Between Wolf Cave and Hiking Trail B
in Daphne State Park
by Doug Ramspeck
Look: the mangy dress has impaled itself on the shagbark limb.
It wags in late July. It flags in torn and rippling yellow.
And, of course, there is that tunneling of vision.
It is the inexplicable that draws us.
It is the anomaly that besieges us.
Like dusk light gathering into the dream state.
A sinister loveliness? A sensual ordinariness?
While ten feet up, the dress defies its element.
Stripped of girl or woman, it claims no need.
And, yes, the sun has bleached it.
And, yes, the rain has mangled it.
And even if the evening air is golden with bees,
and even if the stream by the trail dims green
as silk moth larvae, aren't we the ones
who pause and stare and stare? A yellow dress
impaled on a shagbark limb.
As night breaks down upon us.
Doug Ramspeck has had more than 175 poems accepted for publication at journals that include West Branch, Rattle, Confrontation Magazine, Connecticut Review, Rosebud, Nimrod, Hunger Mountain, RHINO, The Cream City Review, and Seneca Review. He directs the Writing Center and teaches creative writing and composition at The Ohio State University at Lima. He lives in Lima with his wife, Beth, and their sixteen-year-old daughter, Lee.