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"My father asked me the other morning, Annie,
what is your greatest fear? I laughed and said
*burning these eggs to a crisp* but even as
I scooped them out of the frying pan and
onto our plates, the question sounded in my brain."
- Heather Cadenhead, a stanza to an unfinished poem

Heather Cadenhead is on the editorial staff of The Basilica Review, a literary magazine. The Basilica Review seeks submissions of poetry for its inaugural issue to debut fall 2009. Please see www.readbasilica.com for submission guidelines.

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2009 Guest Poet Archive

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The Root Heaven Store
by Robert W. Walker
robertwalkerbooks.com

(To be read to the sound of Reggae music playing in you head.)

You carrying a curse?
Got urgent pain?
Can't make de water?
Head a bustin'? Wife a-fussin'?
Jus' you come to Root Heaven.
the famous Root Mon's Store!

Here's a broth,
here's a stew.
You want both
for what you gotta do.
You got needs?
Plannin-a-big sacr-o-fice?
We god seeds
and chickens on ice!

We got bugs, scrubs, and herbs,
and all 11 kinna spice!
Need dem magic words?
Have a dose-a-crawlin' lice.
Eat a canna magic rice,
a-pinch of snuff
for dat ol' wart
to kick-start the heart.

Toad sweat'll get you up'n'fit
wid no shivers, shingles, or sneeze.
So get whatever you please
wid heavenly-heavenly ease
at the Toot-ah-Root Mon's store–
Root Heaven.

We got fat slugs
and tobacco plugs.
Got fuzzy cut worms
for cuts, scrapes'n'burns.
For fever it's the poltice
and the crucifix cross.
Got many things for stings:
herbs, toots, roots'n'things.

Go-head, make my day
wid dat bottle
of turtle-nip-spray.
Toss a snake rattle
o'er your left shoulder
onto a big boulder
beside a flowin' river
at the midnight hour.

So get whatever you need–
no talk, guilt, or greed.
Join de Root Mon's club!
Special on de belly rub,
and on de herb'n'potion.
Jus' whisper who gets
dis notion, dat lotion.
Hex on/off as you please.

Get stalks and stone,
min'rals and bones,
cat tails in pails
wid good'n'plenty snails!
Got a clip of royal bangs,
eyelashes from de King,
Bob Marley's gol' ring!
All's at Root Heaven!

Take dat magic tobacco,
wrap it in calico and
file it wid cat gut.
Find a cemetery,
dig a deep rut,
and bury it up.
Prescription filled!
Got de enemy killed!

Fix you up wid a hex sign,
tack it to de nearest pine.
Throw a magic lotion
into the nearest ocean.
Chew eyes of black raven
whenever your cravin'
the really big ol' cure.
All at your Root Mon's Store!

Swallow de snail slime!
Ain't no crime
to be fit and prime,
and in self-help.
There's protection
and at once
you be sheddin' dat
godawful middle-section.
In de health we trust.

Guard your fleas.
Curses come in threes!
Get even however you can,
and glory-be, mon.
If'n you want
to regain health,
joy, and prosperity
Then you lis'n to me!

Forget dat ol' 7-Eleven!
Get y'self to my Root Heaven!

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Essay by Thom Williams
On Truth, Poetry and the Dance of Maya

W e've all heard Polonius' advice from Hamlet, "To thine own self be true, and it must follow as night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man." He says it as if truth were easy to find, like a glass of lemonade you could buy from a child's stand by the road. In fact, along with that other oft-abused word "love," truth is bandied about pretty offhandedly. For my part, I lean toward a quote I read in a Benet short story called "By the Waters of Babylon." A shaman advises that "The truth is a hard deer to hunt." Just when you get it in your sights, the scene changes; the deer vanishes. Perhaps truth is a shape-shifter that is more kaleidoscopic and evanescent.

I recall myself at other times and places being fairly sure about certain things, most of which have changed with time. Even poetry, which has been all but holy to me, has been brought under scrutiny. When I was younger, I felt so righteous just getting it out; like I had something I had to say. Now, in another time, I have thought at times that poetry is a sorry attempt to hang onto things, things that it would be healthier to let go, and my hubris in thinking I had something to say should just chill out. Just live, baby.

But then there's Shakespeare, which always makes me feel like I hit on an oasis in an arid world, or Sophocles whose truths always hit me hard and don't really change, like, "Those pains that we inflict upon ourselves hurt worst of all." or "Time is the great healer, you will see." And then there's the muse that still works for me, as I labor over my novels and my songs. It won't shut up, and I hope I have "miles to go before I sleep." I can't deny that poetry seems a lever to pry open the door of "truth" or whatever truth there is. Maya is dancing around me; sometimes I see a flash. Could it be "the truth?"

Thom Williams is a professor at Immaculata University in Pennsylvania. He has won numerous awards for his writing on five continents. He has published many poems and fiction, and he has been anthologized repeatedly. He is a musician (see myspace music page "T.Will") and essayist.

Two external links for more reading on truth and poetry: Honesty, Wikipedia and Two Horses and a Dog by James Galvin, poets.org

Thank You To

1. Poet's Market Featured Web Resource, 2003/2004/2005/2006/2007/2008/2009
   
2. UC Davis University Library, Mothership newsletter listing, 2005
   
3. Point of Life Merit of Excellence Award for Outstanding Content and Sincerity, 2002
   
4. Poets & Writers, Inc. & The New York Arts Council: Bowery Poetry Club Funding, August 2002
   
5. Writer's Market Featured Resource, June 2002
   
6. Poets & Writers, Inc. Matching Workshop Grant, May 2001
   
7. Writer's Digest 101 Best Web Sites, 2001
   
8. RockHill Communications April 2000 Web Feet Seal of Approval
   
9. Empire:ZINE February 1998 Debut Issue
   
10. Shasta County Arts Council Since November 1997
    
11. MSN, One Click Away September 1997
    
12. Gary Gach, writers.net
    
13. The Mining Company Spring 1997
    
14. The Dandelion Revolution, April 1997
    
15. suite101 September 1996
    
16. iGuide 1996
    
17. Magellan (Now "Excite") 1996
    
18. NetGuide, January 1996
    
19. Danny Glix (AlienFlower logo)