We were lost in the woods, my sister and I,
Which was absurd.
We grew up next to those groves of pine,
And knew every trail and every tree.
Even the coal mine shafts
Long forgotten.

Over time we had found
Copper pipes
From moonshine stills long gone.
Antique green bottles and clear glasses
From a housewife’s table,
Words rubbed off.

Trails led to fantasy places;
Like Case Rock, two boulders
Deposited on the banks of the Warrior River,
A jungle gym for country children
To find and climb
And bask on in the heat of the day.

Forests of bamboo, the sandy ground
was our playground,
the river our teacher,
watching water moccasins fall
from the trees into the murky water
and swim away.

And now, I am thirty-seven
And I am lost in these woods,
No longer are they familiar to my sister and I.
Logging has robbed us of our knowledge,
Most of our southern pines,
Our trails.

We find our way home
By the memories we share
But while we are lost,
I inhale the smells and memories
Of the Alabama woods I love
And I am glad I am here.