Huntley Butte
The roof fell in while I was away at grad school
Soft pine timbers gave under
snow, raccoons and the insults of time
swing low the house of my great-grandparents
swing low
A low dry ridgeline from Absarokee to Columbus
guards the bones of the homestead
the dust of my ancestors’ blood and sweat
In the hard years, they were all hard years
we took odd jobs, never even
We’ve been:
truckdrivers
and cowboys
shepherds
midwives
marines
and roughnecks
seasonal hands
at the sugar beet plant
Now a guy from Flagstaff wants
to buy us out at $250 an acre
Swing low
the house of my great-grandparents
swing low. Still, for a while we had
this: the broadest piece of sky
640 acres of dry land to prove up
a house
draft horses named Greta and Charlie
the beginnings of pride
*
Trailer Trash
There’s an awning anyway
We sit with our feet in the sun but our heads out
watching traffic on Shiloh
and the vet across the street
hauling loads in a pickup
worth more than Dad’s trailer
I always come home
Flew in this time
that daredevil approach to the Rims
because I’ll be driving out
piloting the Crown Vic
up from the valley floor
My mother was born here
They say that’s what counts
where the egg that became you
came into being
nurtured on chokecherries
and the incense of sweetgrass
A few things I won’t sell
The vultures keep asking
what I want for Grandpa’s tools
the bamboo fly rod
my heritage
my heart
Dad sits quietly
on a lawn chair
crushing ants
with a white sneaker
his cowboy hat
low
the t-shirt thin, and a smell
on him, like death
~~~
Carrie La Seur is a recovering environmental lawyer and author of two award-winning, critically acclaimed novels from William Morrow (The Home Place, 2014 and The Weight of an Infinite Sky, 2018). Her poetry, short stories, essays, book reviews, and law review articles appear in the Guardian, Harvard Law and Policy Review, Inscape, Kenyon Review, Mother Jones, Rappahannock Review, Rumpus, Salon, and more. She lives in Montana.