The best defense against woodchucks
isn’t some straight-up wall, even
made of stone or brick. That’s easy.
It’s a wobbly fence, with a lot
of give, an old fishing net, say,
twisted from stake to stake. She’ll try
to scale it but her hands are built
for digging, not this. Part way up
she feels her spine unbalance
waits, airborne, gravity distilled
in sequined fingertips, splayed
vertical – worse – angled out
her clever toes unsure
on braided polyethylene
high over the curve of the earth
and stares through filament at sky
she doesn’t want to go to
while below lie
crackled shards of cherry
tomato, a mummified
eggplant, the stop-time motion of
the cabbage opening
and settling quiet into the dirt.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 24, Issue 3.
Anne Yarbrough’s first collection, Refinery (Broadkill River Press), was chosen by Hayden Saunier for the 2021 Dogfish Head Poetry Prize. Her poems have been or will be in Poet Lore, Delmarva Review, Philadelphia Stories, Gargoyle Magazine, CALYX Journal, and elsewhere. She lives along the lower Delaware River.See all items about Anne Yarbrough
