I was brought up and still live in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia so I rely on imagery derived from the natural landscape to explore human relationships. My wife, Elizabeth, and I have two daughters and three grandchildren. I have been an architectural woodcarver for over 35 years and have written numerous articles and three books on the subject. My poetry has appeared in Shenandoah, Green Mountains Review, The Lyric, The South Carolina Review, Southern Poetry Review, and others.
Dyslexia: Riding a Different Horse
From the hall, I watch my boy squirm in a desk too big.
His eyes follow lariats the teacher whistles
on whiteboard, knows he should follow their whip
and meander, tie the right knots, but his horse stumbles
when common words stampede. He doodles cartoons
in the wilds of notebook margins until the bell frees him
to his own prairie, far from tease and rowdy snickers.
He wrangles homework, memorizing answers
like the moods of water cattle will not cross.
For now, he survives by herding his own symbols,
across gentle ground, reading only signs of weather.
His trail is my trail, a mapping in sunset dust.
He asks about the broken-legged horse who has to be shot.
We pitch our tent, gather sticks for a campfire,
and we draw pictures between stars before our sleep.
©2016 Frederick Wilbur
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