APPALACHIAN CAROL #1
From Westward from Bald Mountain (1974)
If the Christ Child should come to our mountains,
his birth angel-told in these vales,
I would thatch his stable with pine boughs
garnered by steep winding trails.
I would perfume his cradle with cedar
and leaves from sassafras tall;
I would gather Him wild ripe persimmons
and a chinquapin brown for a ball.
From the bee-tree, I'd ladle Him honey,
far sweeter than manna of old,
I would weave Him the softest rare garments
to protect his small limbs from the cold.
And then, when I'd finished my working,
I'd call for the squirrel and the deer
to join me in loving devotion,
on our knees we would welcome Him here.
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STILL LIFE WITH PENNY CANDY
From Spring Onions and Cornmeal (1978)
C.M. drove the No. 2 bus from the country line
to Griffin and went back home to run the store
where the dirt road to Mt. Zion Campground
crossed Highway 16. The train tracks
were overgrown with weeds even then,
and the stationhouse sagged heavy with Crowder's hay.
Now, the wood stove in the back of C.M.'s store
is gone, and Mr. Sampson waiting for someone
to play checkers on an upturned nail keg.
The penny candy place and big lemony cookies
two cents a piece have disappeared with Ettie Jones
who caught the bus at the store and snatched
my cap because she could.
I never stood up to her but once—
pushed beyond endurance, I snatched a handful
of red hair out as Ettie stepped down laughing
from the No. 2 bus.
CHATTAHOOCHEE RIVER
From Westward from Bald Mountain (1974)
Spring Rains discover earthen shards
in tall meadow grasses hidden, evoking
campfires burned low
and braves stalking quiet deer
where browsing Herefords pasture now.
There were no fences then to trammel
foot or soul; Cherokee children wandered
free as the river flows,
their mouths purpled sweet by berries
gathered from wild brambles
and warmed by summer's once-benevolent suns. |
