A daughter watches as her father loads stovewood on a kind of February day that itches for renunciating spring as winter breaks and enters like a sting. Dad rolls down his frame at his back. His little girl standing by, watches forming her thoughts. He lets slip Lemme see, a thought with breathy lip when considering stovewood as judge of something. Stove door opens coal warms his Lemme see echoing. There might be something happening to let him fit more pieces to pack it. Some assurance. Hope in movements after such a slight phrase for ancient ritual—springhope that lags and fades inside the chest. The cold won’t tire. It urges on a brief career of fire.
William Rieppe Moore is from Richland County, South Carolina and moved to Unicoi County, Tennessee with his wife. He resumed teaching high school English after earning an MA in English from East Tennessee State University. Moore’s poetry has received various honors, including Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations as well as finalist honors in the Ron Rash Award in Poetry and second place in the George Scarbrough Prize for Poetry. His poems appear in Driftwood, Blue Earth Review, Appalachian Places, James Dickey Review, North American Review, Terrain.org, and most recently in River Heron Review.