Our dwelling was one room, one window <br />One door, not even a keyhole, but a latch <br />To keep her and baby son in and others out <br /> <br />Way back there when things were not yet full with age <br />the same place we are now...the post hole digger <br /> <br />leans uselessly against the splintered barn door <br />and day by day the leaves of grass had begun withering <br />and the flowers falling everywhere <br /> <br />At the time I-greener than the leaves of a spring leaf <br />bleeding tears while seeking a place to rest before being <br />planted in the richest soil, and baptized in the running <br />water that had reached its comfort level <br />She was fresh like momma's first mess of turnip greens <br />And as tender as any slab of fresh killed pork hanging <br />To dry in the old smoke house during yesteryears even <br />Further than the distance between where she stands right now. <br /> <br />Are you religious or spiritual? <br />Weighted with questions with no sight of any answers in tow <br />The brain leading the way and a deluded mind painting <br />Symbols, forms, and shapes like a poetess or artist <br />aspiring passageway out or to escape and create a reality <br /> <br />Sing child sing! Praise child praise! 'Just yell amen for authentication! ' <br />Church full with the sacred and profane-can't tell whose whom <br />Unripened ears too green to come to know how grown folks walk and talk <br />Mowing grass not their own and flopping in dirt as if it don't hurt! <br /> <br />Mother-tree has more to tell, though, bare and standing <br />Despite leaning from the mighty winds of time <br />trunk grey worn from years of losing one seeds after another <br />boughs are bare, along, and lonely <br />The fallen seeds are grown with trees of their own… <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> September 27,2014<br /><br />Almedia Knight Oliver<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/more-than-the-story-told/
