the oldest ragdoll.
Children of the fifties:
loved in the same way.
Leaf by leaf all roses fall:
still acres of stones grow.
Lights in kitchen windows:
rising fawns, fiery mystery.
We missed most at twilight:
fifty years of Saturday nights.
Roses from the garden of girls:
The waves, voices of the South.
When the one you love forgets:
meet me tonight in dreamland.
Seeking Corn Mother’s wisdom:
precipitations of narrow houses.
Southern voices in all directions:
other forgotten folks back home.
Kindred told by Ole Spry herself:
Life’s down to old women’s shoes.
The whole world seems to change:
big blocks, slavery, and its legacies.
When the roses of summer are gone:
The shaky earth becomes Motherland.
Let’s be the same old-time sweethearts:
walk valley paths in hearts of Old Hickory.
America shows her colors in black and white:
down among the sun-kissed hills of Tennessee.
When shadows make all that’s twilight fade away,
old flames still sing out: let me call you sweetheart.
So close your eyes and answer: Is there a land of love?
. . . . .
Found poem by Susan Powers Bourne
Sourced from Women Poets of Tennessee