John, Gone Woods Queer
John, gone woods queer,
Huddles behind the weeds.
Becomes the long shade of trees
So that glancing headlights
Never strike his face.
Breakfasts on blanched grasses
Folded in their sheaths.
Sneaks sips of blackberry wine,
When the shiny green bronze beetles
Are too torpid to object.
In his knitted, knotted kippah.
Willing to wade frigid cellar waters
To be unqualified cantor
For the roadside frog.
Sonja Johanson attended College of the Atlantic, and currently serves as the training coordinator for the Massachusetts Master Gardener Association. She divides her time between work in Massachusetts and her beloved home in the mountains of western Maine.