by Ron Hickerson
To Frederick Buechner
Asked when he
First met sin, Leo Bebb spins a
Yarn: “Around
Spartanburg is good peach county –
Despite clay.
But one summer, they dumped peaches
into the
Ditches, just to keep the price up.
Juicy, sweet,
Plump, yellowy pink peaches left
out to rot
In the sun. The sight and smell
made you sick –
The same way that sin makes you sick.
Sin is waste.”
In my tale,
Flowers my wife planted along
The fence wilt,
Scorched by chemicals our neighbor
Sprayed to keep
Weeds at bay. Thanks to this blunt force
Nothing grows
On his side, the dirt poisoned by
Repeated
Applications, now leaching to
our soil.
Contamination is tricky
To contain –
Osmotically creeping to peace.
Sin is death.
Ron Hickerson is an academic advisor who helps navigate students through the murky waters of academia. When he’s not advising, you can find him looking for the oldest trees on campus or binding books at his desk.