On a hillside far across the hollow
shone a single light that seemingly,
blinked as the wind tussled the leaves,
on yonder trees, causing the light to
hauntingly come and go.
That lone light was all that remained intact,
in my birth home with those old rotted floors,
sideways leaning walls and broken windowpanes,
adorned with tattered and musty, dusty curtains
flapping even in the stillest of breezes.
The flickering light, as though an old movie reel was
spinning to life memories of days gone by.
Raising in me an expectation of hearing mom's call
that dinner was being served.
Her one constant, the fatback and beans, cornbread
and jar of honey with spoon at the ready to fill the bellies
of four hungry kids packed with so much energy,
literally, the rafters shook in our wake.
Alas, my reverie comes full circle as the moon's full face
comes into view and lights the evening with longer shadows.
And I know that the old house across the hollow is,
but a relic, that fuels distant memories.
But that lone light ... I keep it on day in and day out.
So, on nights such as this, I do not forget my roots.
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