Green Hills Literary Lantern

Down Home


In a place where cousins hunt together

and sing even when it isn’t Sunday,

the moon grows in October

the color of pumpkin, seems heavy

halfway shown behind the sometimes

clouds from the afternoon which had not

spent its rain. Both of these promises

of a sort, one might think, but the fields

smell of dew and stubble. Field mice

have retreated to the pasture

where the plow won't go until next year.


Famished, the horizon falls off the earth.


Without Fridays and Sundays

people would stop counting.

Monday is just a sabbath debt.


Several dark stones are among the white ones

in the shallow stream. At dawn they will

shine like bruises. Neighbors will love

their familiarity as though it were good weather.


Even the banjo seems mellow against

the purple fading light as one day

leaves room for another.


Robert Parham’s work has been published by Southern Review, Texas Review, Georgia Review, Shenandoah, Connecticut Review, Northwest Review, and South Carolina Review. His chapbook What Part Motion Plays in the Equation of Love won the Palanquin Competition. A collection of his poetry was a finalist for the Richard Snyder and the Marianne Moore poetry competitions. He edits the Southern Poetry Review and serves as Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at Augusta State University.