Fay Guinn–Christian Creek

Fay Guinn–CHRISTIAN CREEK

 

Behind our house ran a creek

banked about ten feet deep,

soldiered by trees, brush and kudzu.

 

Water trickled in a drought,

roared when gorged with rain.

My three boys explored its depths

like modern Huckleberry Finns.

 

To them it might as well have been

the Mississippi, Arkansas, Missouri.

Gleefully, they gifted me

with bounty of muddy treasure –

shelled, smooth, and scaly creatures,

prehistoric, amphibian menagerie.

 

Their eyes saucered in wonder

at each slimy, aquatic prize.

Mouths o’d and voices squealed

at the thrill of reptile ribbons

wriggling, slithering over arms,

hands, fingers, feet, and toes.

 

Determined not to quench

their insatiable thirst

for fearless adventure

and fascination with creation,

I lost my fear of snakes.