Walking Provo Canyon
Poem
At dawn the wind
delivered the oaks
of their last papery leaves,
and I saw that someone had scattered
the hornet’s nest you nailed
to the maple tree.
At the spot where we saw
the snake slip its thin skin,
I stopped, listened
to the corn husks
we’d shucked east of the cabin.
They rattled the death of all green things.
About the Author
Loretta M. Sharp
Loretta M. Sharp established the writing program at the Interlochen Arts Academy, Interlochen, Michigan, in 1976. She has taught at the Academy for fourteen years.