The poem is a hot-air balloon. I climb
into its wicker and light the flame
to ascend. A rushing whoosh
and the balloon is in motion, sending
heat from the flame to warm my back,
blowing my hair sideways.

Lifting from the earth, leaving
the prosaic behind. Settling into
the tone of this ride, meters above
the farm; chicken yard, duck pond, and root
cellar. Floating past swaying bamboo and empty
oak branches, a lyrical view of my own days.

Draft after draft wafts me higher where
the air is pure, rhythm steady, and a
cacophony of crows sails by, inspecting
the flying vehicle.

Telephone lines appear, just beyond
my outstretched arm, like sentences
widening out in front of me. Still I rise.
At the mercy of the flame’s refrain,
time alters, weeks consumed in a moment.

Drifting in rare spaces,
over waterfalls of passion, empty
cliffs of sorrow. Trusting,
trusting the ride.

Halfway between heaven and earth
the basket moves in slow-motion on
its descent. With a defining punch
it touches earth. Heaving myself
over the edge, my mind
cloud-walks for hours.

Anne Maren-Hogan, a poet-gardener, who relishes farm life with her husband in the South Toe Valley beneath the Black Mountains of North Carolina. Her childhood on an Iowa farm, which her family still farms, provides material for her poetry, as deep and rich as the black earth from which she comes.

Anne began writing poetry after raising children and gives credit to her writing group for their edits and insight. Her first chapbook, The Farmer’s Wake, was published by Finishing Line Press. Her second chapbook, Laying the Past in the Light, published by Longleaf Press, looks at the mystery of death and resurgent power of landscape. This summer her manuscript, Vernacular, was chosen as Honorable Mention by NC Poetry Society.