October 2015
/
Orpheus
by Leonore Wilson
He walks down the hill alone
away from me, with his bike
slung over his right shoulder
like a silver lyre, this man
who will pedal the eighteen miles
to the factory where he will mix
barley and hops and yeast
and water and watch as the alchemy
of beer cooks and the steam
rises out over the sunflower fields
and back pastures of the air force
town wishing he was on those wheels
again coming back through
the beneficence of buckeyes,
their flowery scent catching in his hair,
his sweat alive with the memory
of morning when we were
awakened by the same pure songbird
in the far canyon, the one hidden
we have yet to name, but
there steady as sunlight
and mist as we sidle up face to face
and our sleepy eyes open
as if we were the only dependable gods
on earth lending
our entire breath to the day.
from Western Solstice, published by Hiraeth Press
Leonore Wilson is the author of Western Solstice and Tremendum, Augustum, and has published in Quarterly West, Madison Review, Third Coast, Poets Against the War, and other journals. She has taught at universities and colleges throughout the San Francisco Bay Area and won fellowships to the University of Utah and Villa Montalvo Center for the Arts. She lives on her family cattle ranch in Napa, California.