Mud Season

Joseph Coleman

My head is broke today; winter roads
have turned to mud. Cow fields,

bordered with pine, slant to the sea.

I’m drawn here by a set of tracks,

stretch a wire fence so my dog

can pass. She balks and looks at me,

remembering her skin caught a barb

last fall downwind of a grouse.

“Come on, you’re fine!”she bounds

dull fields, slush, and jags of stalks.

The tracks turn west towards

the feeding troughs; no time to chat

with a Turner, not today, so east I turn

and soon I’m on my knees in brush

and black mud on a southerly slope.

I find dry ground to rest my head.

Above the gray, whirring beats of wings.

They sound like mergansers, maybe

pintails? Maybe buffleheads?

Joseph Coleman is a poet and short story writer with an MFA in creative writing from Sarah Lawrence College 22’. He’s a registered Maine Guide, a Wilderness First Responder, entrepreneur and holds a blue belt in Jiu Jitsu . His poems have been seen in various forms in; The New Yorker, Esquire, The New Criterion, Casa Vogue and a Chapbook – 45° North Latitude. Instagram @josephpaulcoleman) He teaches at the Ella Fitzgerald writing lab for middle schoolers in Yonkers and tutors kids in an after school program in the Bronx.

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