Old Men in a Country Store

They sit idly, eyes moving slowly,

hands waving flies, mosquitoes, gnats

with a motion that barely ruffles air.

Their haunches squat on drink crates,

or weathered cylinders that once held oil,

or some other important staple.

They sit and hatch vacant mounds of time,

like the "eggs" that roosters lay.

They wait, recognizing familiar sounds

of trucks that pass, or the hearty laughter

and the hawks and spit from throats clearing airways

of saliva and tobacco juice.

Some arrive with the regular tick-tock

of dusty clocks on general store walls~

some saunter in with fish in ice boxes

freshly caught in hideaway ponds this morning;

caught before bass barely opened eyes

for breakfast.

They are the comedians-gossipers,

news-anchors-neighborhood-watches of the rural road.

Their slow drawl words are familiar script,

their daily acts are anthems,

their arrivals and departures,~

a ballet folklorico in overalls.

First published in: BMa: The Sonia Sanchez Literary Review—Emerging Voices, Southern Themes ;  Vol. 5, No. 1~ Fall, 1999. Drexel University: Philadelphia, Pa.

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Witnesses on the Corner of Gay and Grace: 1952
                                              (A prose poem)

While the silver-haired businessman was out of the office, and when his black suited and tied son had no wood nor coal yard customers, he left his desk, hurried beyond the stacks of wood and mounds of black coal, closed the gate, glanced both ways as he crossed Grace St. He unlocked his black sedan, parked on the street, just below our bedroom window. He looked around watchfully, yet never knew my sister and I peered from behind our curtain. He hoisted a clear bottle from the floor, adjusted his short body below the steering wheel, lay backward across the seat, and guzzled long and swallowed hard from his bottle. After another gulp, he sat up, replaced the top, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and leapt quickly from his car, crossed the street, re-entered his business, as two little black girls squealed to Mama that we’d just caught him drinking outta that bottle~ again.

First published in Pembroke Magazine, Issue #39 / http://www.ncarts.org/elements/docs/Pembroke39.pdf

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GROWING UP SOUTH!—Memories of My Childhood

In the sunny summer south, my sister and I would get up early, have cereal, sausage, eggs and toast for breakfast, then head to our back yard for a busy day.

If she and I became bored, we’d try to get back in the house a dozen times. Our stern aunt, Flossie who was a strict no nonsense retired school teacher would become  weary of the slamming doors and would yell at us to keep that screen door closed to keep the flies out. 

Sometimes when it was hot, we’d go outside, flood the back yard with the water hose and made a yard full of mud pies. Or we’d bury an unfortunate caterpillar in an empty match box that we had retrieved from the kitchen on one of our trips indoors. We gave it a proper burial and sang songs we’d learned in church on Sunday morning. 

Early most mornings I would watch my mother walk around a long curve as far as I could see her. Watched her until she turned that corner goin to the Falls….walked steadily around what I called “the crooked lane” and vanished for the rest of the day inside a huge brick walled yard to care for someone else's children and the duties she was expected to do at the home of a wealthy banker and his wife. 

By afternoon, Gail and I had gotten dirty and then we’d retreat to the front porch  which was shaded by a large chinaberry tree. We’d relax in the family’s favorite hammock which was hung on hooks between two posts . We’d squeal with joy at the ride. One day while in that hammock having fun, we got the scare of our lives. Mr. High, a large tall man with a huge face and belly who lived around the corner came up behind that tree and said BOO! Before we even looked to see who or what it was, our little legs hit the porch running and screaming. We sailed almost without touching the floor and ran in the house for safety. Mr. High felt so bad about scaring us that badly  that he knocked on the door and told our aunt that he didn’t mean to scare  those little “gulls”. It was such a comical scene to him until he nor we ever forgot it.

We also lived near a big tobacco factory and watched the people come and go with their shift changes. Women always had their hair tied up with a head scarf.…and that seemed to be how you always knew where they worked.

Since we lived on the corner of Gay and Grace streets, we saw most people who came into our street. Almost all day long, someone was always taking somebody some food. Every time they passed by, they seemed to have a dinner plate wrapped up with a dish towel. I later learned that this was probably boot leg liquor being transported all day long. They never bothered us, but sometimes they’d be walking kind of funny. 

By 4 or 5 pm, my aunt would give us our bath and put our clean clothes on so we’d look and smell nice when our mother came home. Then we’d wait on the porch ‘til we saw her coming. For me this was the most joyous time of day~ when Mama’s work day ended. She often came home carrying goodies she’d baked that day, and we'd  look forward to seeing her warm smile and hearing the stories of her day.