{"id":2180,"date":"2013-07-03T03:14:33","date_gmt":"2013-07-03T03:14:33","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/?page_id=2180"},"modified":"2013-11-02T02:55:36","modified_gmt":"2013-11-02T02:55:36","slug":"simmons713","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/simmons713\/","title":{"rendered":"Danny Earl Simmons, July 2013"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<div id=\"yui_3_7_2_1_1372803748816_70200\">\n<p><strong>Work Boots<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>Jackson is two now,<br \/>\nDimples nearly gone for good.<br \/>\n<em>Pull, cross, hook.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>It is still dark this morning.<br \/>\nIt is dark every morning.<br \/>\n<em>Pull, cross, hook.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>He likes to wake-up when I do,<br \/>\nWatches me lace my boots.<br \/>\n<em>Pull, cross, right eye, left eye.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>His blue eyes are rapt.<br \/>\nHis database is smoking.<br \/>\n<em>Tie. Re-tie. Tug the frayed denim.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>He looks at me now. Smiles.<br \/>\nStill such an easy thing.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Clatskanie<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>All she knew was that this place came with a mill<br \/>\nand logs, steady work, and a little white house.<br \/>\nFar away from familiar-and-binding ties,<br \/>\nshe bundled baby Emma and followed<br \/>\nher husband to another fresh start.<\/p>\n<p>At twenty-two, she was still more afraid of the dark<br \/>\nthan the daylight. The mill, with its weekly paychecks,<br \/>\nlet her pretend the cold corners of the little white house<br \/>\nwere all her fault and not due to his shrugging and grunting,<br \/>\nhis preference for the perfumed little thing<br \/>\nat the bar after work.<\/p>\n<p>Still, she prayed for him at the other little white house<br \/>\nin the tiny mill-town. She forced herself to give thanks<br \/>\nfor the mill and sang hymns at the top of her lungs<br \/>\nand taught little Emma how to choke down tears<br \/>\nby the grace of God.<\/p>\n<p>Between nursery rhymes and Amazing Grace,<br \/>\nthe green in her eyes turned steadily jade,<br \/>\nand the deeper the color, the more she could see<br \/>\nthe deep inside of things; all the darkest shadows<br \/>\nof brightest daylight.<\/p>\n<p>A U-haul truck is hard to pack when your only help<br \/>\nis a toddler with questions, but she managed<br \/>\nto scrape-up enough humility to return<br \/>\nto the familiar-and-binding ties with everyone intact \u2013<br \/>\nEmma, the cats, and the still secret beauty<br \/>\nof one last try.<\/p>\n<p><b id=\"yui_3_13_0_1_1383354351174_61407\">\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><em>Danny Earl Simmons is an Oregonian and a proud graduate of Corvallis High School. He is a friend of the Linn-Benton Community College Poetry Club and an active member of Albany Civic Theater. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in various journals such as\u00a0Naugatuck River Review, Off the Coast, Shadow Road Quarterly, Grey Sparrow,\u00a0and\u00a0Verse Wisconsin.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<div><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp; Work Boots Jackson is two now, Dimples nearly gone for good. Pull, cross, hook. It is still dark this morning. It is dark every morning. Pull, cross, hook. He likes to wake-up when I do, Watches me lace my boots. Pull, cross, right eye, left eye. His blue eyes are rapt. His database is [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":934,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-2180","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v24.2 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Danny Earl Simmons, July 2013 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.fullofcrow.com\/poetry\/archives\/simmons713\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Danny Earl Simmons, July 2013 - Full Of Crow: Poetry (Archives)\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"&nbsp; Work Boots Jackson is two now, Dimples nearly gone for good. Pull, cross, hook. It is still dark this morning. It is dark every morning. Pull, cross, hook. He likes to wake-up when I do, Watches me lace my boots. Pull, cross, right eye, left eye. His blue eyes are rapt. 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Pull, cross, hook. It is still dark this morning. It is dark every morning. Pull, cross, hook. He likes to wake-up when I do, Watches me lace my boots. Pull, cross, right eye, left eye. His blue eyes are rapt. 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