Above New River Gorge
By André F. Peltier
Up the mountain, to forgotten cemetery, rusted water-tower, we dragged late-model Dodge Dart. A tight squeeze, that car made it through the narrowest of over-grown erosion. The gaping ravine held life once and would again. We baked in the sun. An hour later, the rains came, but we came first. We made that back-bumper bounce atop those pock-marked hills. Alone below that tower, the cloudless sky stood still as we made it run, born again: anew and alone. Below that tower, we smiled in the sun.
New Potatoes
By André F. Peltier
We sought a special sack and filled it half way with potting soil, compost, manure. Five seed potatoes hovered above the soil and then more potting soil, compost, manure A month later. I covered the green growth with more again. Banking to encourage more growth… more potatoes. “Harvest when the green growth dies back,” he said… so I harvested when the green growth died back. A small crop of new potatoes. Just enough to serve as a side dish with corn and collards. A small meal, but satisfying.
André F. Peltier
André F. Peltier (he/him) is a Pushcart Nominee and a Lecturer III at Eastern Michigan University where he teaches literature and writing. He lives in Ypsilanti, MI, with his wife and children. His poetry has recently appeared in various publications like CP Quarterly, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Provenance Journal, Lavender and Lime Review, About Place, Novus Review, Fiery Scribe, and Fahmidan Journal, and most recently in Magpie Literary Journal, The Brazos Review, and Idle Ink. In his free time, he obsesses over soccer and comic books.
Twitter: @aandrefpeltier
Website: andrefpeltier.com
Photo credit: Shutterstock
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