Linda Drach
Four Dead In Woods, One Missing
SARAH JOHNSON
2013 – 2020
Daddy said the woods would be like Eden.
It was dark and I was scared
of bears. Mama said we would all be safe.
She read to us. Bible stories.
That didn’t help.
The Bible is confusing: like, how could Satan
start out as an angel?
Singing felt better. We sang
this little light of mine
I’m gonna let it shine
until Daddy said it was time
to be quiet.
JACOB JOHNSON
2007 – 2020
Family camping trip,
my ass.
We pitched two gray tents
under tall dark pines –
one for the women, one for us
men. We roasted some hot dogs
and he showed me how
to make a fire, but mostly
I was bored.
I regret all the things
I didn’t get to do. It totally sucks
being dead this soon, but
at least I didn’t grow up
to be like him.
RUTH JOHNSON
1987 – 2020
My precious girls played
down by the water, a tea party
of pinecones and stones.
My sweet boy
stayed close
to keep them safe.
I was pregnant
praying constantly
I wouldn’t lose another.
The church fathers told me
they were His to give
and take.
I couldn’t see it. But I
can see it now: Our God
was a masculine god.
ABIGAIL JOHNSON
2015 – 2020
Mama, I’m a leaf now.
I feel like sunshine.
Pink was my favorite color
but now I am green.
I can’t talk to you, but I sing
all day. I think I am music.
Do you sing with me? Maybe
you are the wind.
My Mother Says Her Life Has No Purpose
She thinks of herself
as a mixing bowl, a place
of origination. Days are OK
but nights are the worst. The silence
holds everything now.
I call but she never calls back.
She needs me to read her mind.
I try to meet her frequency.
Reaching deep, I keep
returning
to the stone in my throat
and the dark thing that lies
beneath. I call and I call –
a yellow snapdragon
jaws wide open.
I am actively involved in community writing through the nonprofit Write Around Portland, as both participant and volunteer writing workshop facilitator for adults in low-income housing and justice-involved youth. My poetry has been published in the Pacific Northwest journal VoiceCatcher.