by Ben Kline
Debating Grandpa about which moon is best
for planting sweet corn and taters—
an early Flower Moon of course—
may not be as interesting as Mapplethorpe
scandalizing Cincinnati, every Tribune article
a warning about taxpayer waste and gay demons
bringing ruin to what upstanding citizens call decency,
said citizens being Falwells, Helms & Buchanans
swearing every soul saved will reconvene
under God’s bright smile, a heavenly mission
to which you can donate fifty dollars today
and save a sinner from eternity’s dense nothingness
that once burst into everything I see from our double wide,
our quarter porch attached by broomsticks, tarp straps,
shiny blue shingles Uncle Nick found in a dumpster
behind Long John Silvers. But the corn tastes better
if you plant it five days before the Flower’s new moon
with rain from the east, the wait worth the bounce
each kernel keeps between teeth. I’ve chewed
enough ears to know the pliant-to-firm ratio
requires more patience than preachers
with jewelry habits or cousins scraping
young cobs into a pot of cubed taters
and cream, Grandpa cussing from the yard,
the latest article describing one photo
of a man and his two full moons.
Imagine what he could grow.
Hailing from the farmland valleys of the west Appalachian foothills, Ben Kline (he/him) lives in Cincinnati, Ohio. A poet, storyteller and Madonna podcaster, Ben is the author of the chapbooks Sagittarius A* and Dead Uncles, as well as the forthcoming full-length collections It Was Never Supposed to Be (Variant Literature) and Twang (ELJ Editions.) His work has appeared in Poet Lore, Copper Nickel, Pithead Chapel, MAYDAY, Florida Review, Southeast Review, DIAGRAM, Poetry, and other publications.
Emerge Literary Journal 