GRANITE
Granite is trees and lush even along the red smooth
of the boulder-stacked mountains. I haven’t seen so many trees
in any other part of Greer. Even the town looks fertile.
Women are out watering plants on their porches with hoses
and an old man rides a mower up and down the school’s athletic fields.
Cars move through blocks deep with neighborhood.
Living yards hold houses with unbroken windows and unsunk roofs.
Will Rogers, one of the Giants of the Great Plains carved out
in Willis granite, looks up at the school new and hospitable.
Two vultures glide slow over Will’s head and back not quite ready
to land among smaller birds singing from the trees, taking off
and soaring past the cemetery with jokes written on all the tombstones.
Glint Literary Journal 