a poetry e-zine










Poems By Mitch Sebourn


The Fence

No one can possibly know whose hands you claimed
Or why you keep on standing there like nothing happened.
Like you saw nothing when we all saw her face;
She locked her eyes upon your boards as we looked

Not far behind you, fence, is the tree where it happened,
After the New Year and the Holidays and winter quit
Drawing back, you stood so still and watched the party.
You acted as though you saw nothing while the people
Gathered around the tree--and when it happened, you looked

A young man sat on you, smoking and calming, eighteen,
And he didn't know truly of the Farm House Party, or why
His friends had gathered 'round the tree; he came out
To join you, fence, to sit awhile and smoke, not knowing why
The music stopped and all grew quiet, as they tied a girl
To the tree and you, fence, kept on quiet as still life, looking

Now when the girl cried and lost, fence, did your rust fall?
Did you acknowledge the existence of that young man,
Who could not find a will to run or call or look away?
No, you simply drew my blood as I placed my hand
On your barbs, and did not turn away. She looked at me,
I looked at her, and you, fence, held us both as the girl's
Screams went on and on and on, till they quietly went

Mitch Sebourn is a native of Arkansas and is currently a senior at the University of Central Arkansas. In May, he will graduate with a BSE in English. He is the author of two novels, both published by Publish America.


Copyright 2007  Chantarelle's Notebook