the mountain in the evening
by Brad Canfield
my grandfather had a black mountain and he picked asparagus in his garden just in front of the mountain he pulled each stalk from the dirt with his thick dirty fingers and dropped it gently into an old coffee can shunk. shunk. shunk. each stalk was a like piece of the evening because the sky grew darker as he picked and i think he looked like he was coming up out of the soil while he picked and i also think he looked like he was growing out of the soil and into a mountain
In three readings of this set of poems, my first choice never changed. The winner, “the mountain in the evening,” caught me with its simplicity, brevity, and a powerful transformative metaphor balanced on the word because. This in a five-line prose poem with the moody feel of Raymond Chandler.
Brad Canfield lives in Philomath, at the foot Mary’s Peak, and has been writing poetry for 18 years. He recently spent two years living in southern Ethiopia with his wife, their two sons and the family dog, at the foot of Mount Demota. His experience in Africa deeply impacted his approach to poetry and has pushed him to write poems focused on the metaphysical aspects of living in Oregon as compared to living in Ethiopia.