Post-Diagnosis

Abstract

Post-Diagnosis Bill King (bio) When I moved to this town, there was a man who shuffled upand down the drag—slow as a tugboat pulling an invisible load.His head slumped but he kept his blue twill work shirt ironed and matching pants cinched tight. Once, when I passed himon the street and nodded, he stopped, looked me in the eyes,and made the sound of a kid-size motor bike that goes round and round. Now, I understand that no one really understands.It's why, at the end of the block, rather than leaning into the turnas I have for years, I keep going, into a field hemmed and humming with rose. Once cleared for cows that sunk fetlock deepin this creek, now it's blackberry and wingstem. Here and therea pokeweed—blood red and heavy with fruit. You have to find a deer trail through—a chest-high crease that catches at clothing,then closes behind as you go. Today is hot and humid. Cicada,like a pressure canner thrumming on the stove, and over that, the cry of two sharp-shins, then crows. Like them, I want to tellyou what I feel. I want words to see me through. In the coolof the wood, a young doe watches. She's waiting for me to move. [End Page 68] Bill King Bill King grew up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. He is the 2021 HeartWood Poetry Prize winner and a Pushcart Prize nominee. His work has appeared in Kestrel, Appalachian Review, 100 Word Story, Still: The Journal, Naugatuck River Review, and many other journals and anthologies. He holds an M.A. in Creative Writing and a Ph.D. in Literature from the University of Georgia and teaches creative writing and literature at Davis & Elkins College in Elkins, West Virginia. His first chapbook of poetry is The Letting Go. Copyright © 2022 Berea College ...