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It's the only café open in Wolf Creek Canyon. And I need a driving break.
To drink from the well of images that floods the landscape on Highway 15 south of Helena. My
hand contracts in welcomed cramps after weeks of poetic drought.
I hum along with the cook, who is helping the Beach Boys confess fantasies about
California girls. Of which I'm geographically one. Genetically I'm full-blooded
Montanan.
The waitress doesn't believe it because I order an egg white omelet. Says I'm definitely
Californian if I'm eating divorced eggs. And besides, the cook refuses to separate what
the good Lord has brought together. Brings me bacon and the best biscuit I've ever
tasted.
I don't mention cholesterol. An alien concept in beef and cream country. But I eat the
biscuit without butter. The only way to tell if it's good anyhow. With butter they're all
to die for. Like Montana itself, this biscuit needs no deceptive assistance. My hand
tightens again in metaphoric anticipation.
Espresso has reached certain regions of Montana. Tourist trapped and movie star
entrenched. But I know better than to ask for it here in Folgers territory. For fear
of having my pedigree replaced with a Starbucks franchise.
It's the only café open in Wolf Creek Canyon. And I don't need to drink strong coffee in
it to refill my creative cup. The caffeine is the camaraderie. The coming home. My
hand holds tight this muse called Montana.
From Where the Meadowlark Sings (2015), winner of the Encircle Publications 2014 Chapbook Contest.
Used here with the author's permission.
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Photo by Alexis Rhone Fancher
Ellaraine Lockie grew up in a Montana farm town and writes at her local Starbucks every morning because it feels like one of the friendly coffee shops where she grew up, a place where everyone knew everyone else who came for coffee and camaraderie. Along with publications in the standard journals, Ellaraine's poems have appeared on broadsides, buses, rented cars, bicycles, cabins, greeting cards, key chains, bookmarks, mugs, coffee sack labels, church bulletins, radio shows and cable TV.
Ellaraine serves as Poetry Editor for the lifestyles magazine, LILIPOH.
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Larry Schug:
I'm still dreaming of California girls!
The cook is the muse in this poem, along with Montana, I think. And yes, a poem is whatever you call a poem in 2015. Thanks for taking me for a ride to Big Sky Country.
Posted 06/23/2015 01:48 PM
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rhonasheridan:
Wonderful! I once - years and years ago - spent a lovely month in Great Falls. This delightful poem brings it all back. Thank you.
Posted 06/23/2015 09:45 AM
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KevinArnold:
"divorced eggs," indeed. :-) Fine work. I'm forwarding it to a California friend who spends a lot of time up in big sky country.
Posted 06/23/2015 08:44 AM
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Cindy:
A prose poem? Whatever the form, it is full of poetic images. Yes, I love the divorced egg idea too but would love one of those biscuits more. Love it!
Posted 06/23/2015 08:42 AM
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mimi:
hello Ellaraine! fun and o so true poem--love it!
Posted 06/23/2015 08:09 AM
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