IV. Riviere Chiagnez
Just past exit 15, before you reach the flea market—
the pastor’s wife will be selling boiled peanuts by the bucket—
on weekdays.
Look, underneath each shell is a verse from John {no one is quite sure how she does it}.
In the beginning was the Word.
Unless you people see signs and wonders,
you will never believe.
The shells get shucked from windows about a mile north
and land near a stream that will be frozen this time of year.
Foxes will likely dart across the ice leaving blueberry paw-prints.
Last year two brothers went to the stream searching for a lost lacrosse ball.
The older ate their peanuts on the shore while the younger put
a hole in the ice
with the heel of his boot.
His sock was damp the whole ride home
and he stayed in bed this past Christmas
with a cough—
sick as a dog.