Adirondack Amish Holler by Matthew Milia

So I am the eyes
That my father cried out
In our swamp sunk with doubt
In the dark yards of North Country aging uncles
Caught in the summer horrid
Endless and fluttered torrid
But all of my ditches
Were buzzing green as I grew taller

Family don’t know that
I’ve seen the road end
Far past the bridges where
Salt thaws out to the river
There on the roadside
Passing by I spied
Billboards that relied on
Only I to deliver
The dusk to the years
And old mirrors, in here

Now those windows still bring back memories
Supermarket rusting through the trees
Hearts drawn on invisibilities, like these
Aching spring please bring a ring
For the powder songs these orchards sing
And that shall string the one thing I have left

In Adirondacka, you are the fire escape alley gleaming
I’ve shed your red valleys dreaming
Of spring town streets and pink sky sheets
Adirondacka, harmonicas were
Blowing through the fairgrounds, darling
Life blows their scary sounds on us
But that is why the spirits fly in Adirondacka

So my twitching girl
When I kissed you our dock had been broken
And every word spoken
Were desperate desire seeds
Sown in your raging hair
Blown to your face so fair
But I died five lifetimes
Before I breathed just what I needed

No place is safe no more
Except sometimes in my door
I have found something that no one else ever touches
Oh Adirondacka, dust bowl harmonicas
Blew through poor houses
And all sorts of awkward crutches

The city hall poplars soon perfumed of death
The kitchen yellows soon paled every breath
The afternoon lethargy makes our home cleft, and left
Open wide as barns divide the supper swamp and gentle pride
From every side as sunset is upset

In America, the mayor comes
And walks among the green-park benches
Dreams are just like endless trenches
It quenches me halfheartedly
Adirondacka, I am the water you are pumping
The town-end glades are up and jumping
The narrow road
My past implodes in episodes that I’ve forgotten

We love our families
We love our twilight trees
We love our memories
Salt pours out to the river

There on the swamp edge
Skies north of the mountains
My eyes pulse like fountains
And salt pours out to the river

Kiss you in eye-gulps
As my piny heart yelps
In no other manner
Could salt pour out to the river
At dinnertime