OUR NAMESHAWL, PART I

Newfound Gap

Shortly after New Year's I invited my readers to share the names of places they loved, so that we could weave a shawl

of names to keep us warm through the dark times. 

Here is the first part of that weave.  More will follow.

NAMESHAWL

Bandana, always

Bandana, Hilda  proclaims,

and Grey sings Ocracoke, Ocracoke,

Ocracoke, like the spring peepers every

March, making the meadow

beneath me in Cullowhee vibrate

like violin strings.  It's Frog Level,

no doubt about it, and Cow Mire 

just up the hill, Eureka

Springs forth, that’s it, here

Jekyll Island

it is, Grab a Nickel and head out

to find home before it gets lost beneath

water like Glen Canyon 

and the debris from mountains

whose peaks have been blasted 

to namelessness. Never again,

pray the Sisters of Loretto Moutherhouse,

 of Philippi, and  the hoot owls

of  Nacoochee and Chattahoochee,  

and Sautee. Don’t mess with Bigwitch

and Booger Branch.  Listen, the Bone Valley

waits for us all if we don’t love where home

lives, atop Steen’s Mountain, maybe,

or Dufur, or the beaches of Edisto

or Eleuthera, the island that means

:”freedom. ”  Walk head first into the wind

 as if reaching the apex of Max

Patch, and Buzzard’s Roost, Lover’s 

Leap, leaning toward Ravensford, 

Trackrock, stomping

toward Boone, till at last you must

 Bend at the Knees

and give thanks for Molasses Creek,

Laurel Ridge, and Dolly Sods.

Mount Hood, Oregon