Poetry — September 1, 2011 13:36 — 1 Comment

Country Doctor – Kevin Heaton

The quest for Quivira parts fabled
rivers where bluestem and switchgrass
yawn early from wet winters, without
much guidance from the sun.

I salve aloe into deep cuts, and suture
fevers onto windy dreams easting
across the Great North Bend.

Range fires gloat, then hush.
The moon suits up in butterfly weed
orange, then turns ashen above the knoll
where Coronado’s horse sparked flint
rock, and flamed the hills.

In time, dust settles onto sand plum
roots, and we cellar the little red fruits
in mason jars. The prairie gathers baskets
full of loaves and fishes for wolf
and coyote children.

I pause to place coins on weary eyes
no longer witnessing horizons, and criss-
cross two arms at rest beneath one stone.


Kevin Heaton lives and writes in South Carolina. His work has appeared, or is forthcoming in 125 journals and anthologies, including: The Raleigh Review, Foundling Review, elimae, and The Catalonian Review. His fourth chapbook, “Chronicles,” is scheduled for release from Finishing Line Press in early 2012. He is a listed poet at KansasPoets.com.

One Comment

  1. Olive Heaton says:

    As I read this poem, there are so many different meanings and feelings woven into it. But the thing that gets my attention the most, are the expressions of nature itself that filter all through it. Kevin has a way of doing this in a lot of his poems, which makes for very meaningful reading.

Leave a Reply

What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney