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Seconds
Dave Holper

That long-ago summer we fled our home:
flew as fast and far afield
as time and wages would allow.
We were but newly married then,
knowing next to nothing
of ourselves or of the world.
Following our host from St. Petersburg,
we struggled hunting wild mushrooms
in the forests of Karelia,
with no idea of where to look
or what colors should catch our eyes,
nor what was safe nor what was not.
Our host heaped laughing scorn on us,
bore home a basket heaped with loot,
rich yellow orange fungi,
an ancient smell of sex and rot.
She set about to cook a chicken
slathered in rich cream and mushrooms
while we sipped her bad white wine
staring at one another and wondering
if we knew her enough to judge
her knowledge of wild mushroom picking.
Not daring risking rudeness, we smiled
politely, filled our plates, and ate.
How little we knew of what to fear,
so unsuspecting of loss to come:
our parents and our friends alike.
How grief can weight one’s heart like stone.
No, all we knew that night
was the silence in those piney woods,
the relief we’d lived—and laughed aloud
at life—helping ourselves to seconds.

—
Dave Holper has done little bit of everything: taxi driver, fisherman, dishwasher, bus driver, soldier, house painter, bike mechanic, bike courier, and teacher. He has published a number of stories and poems, including two collections of poetry, The Bridge (Sequoia Song Publications) and 64 Questions (March Street Press). His poems have appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, and he has recently won several poetry competitions, in spite of his contention that he never wins anything. He is an emeritus professor at College of the Redwoods and lives in Eureka, California, where he recently served as the city’s first Poet Laureate. He thinks Eureka is far enough from the madness of civilization that he can still see the stars at night and hear the Canada geese calling.

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Have you read these poems:
Climbing Trees by Peter R. Selover
A Ritual of Cards by Carol Barrett

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