This Poem was Submitted By: Beth A Rogers On Date: 2002-04-05 01:40:46 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Bound In A History Book

  At the tracks that sever   a small Georgia town,   I cross to the past.   Sodden with sounds   and odors, life mirrors   rough sketches on   battered textbook pages.   The thump of a hoe   clumped with red clay   is the life beat of a spiritual   that saturates the day.   Greens and bacon sizzle  in a black skillet,  the smell melds with  smoke from the wood stove.   Nana rocks on the porch  of the shack; boards creak  stories to children around   her lullaby chair.   I sit on the edge of time.  

Copyright © April 2002 Beth A Rogers


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