how it takes me back
the two rope
swing
hanging
from the mighty oak
the old rope
grandpappy
hung
in the old days
the good old days
"when black was black
and white was white"
he used to say
shades of grey
came later
the new rope
daddy
added
to make a proper swing
swingin' on a single rope
lacked the comfort
of a solid wood platform
balanced
when I was a
boy
I rode that swing
like a bird
free
as the wind in my face
all day long
a soaring eagle
gliding in dominion
but as night fell
a raven
hiding in the shroud
of doubt
crying
"mercy"
trying to escape
the shadows
"mercy, lawd, mercy"
a platform
sturdy and strong
Black
Oak, Arkansas grown
oh, what I saw
secure
on that plank
reaching for clouds
white
as the driven snow
where to go?
where to go?
when I was wee
grandpa would tell me
when the storms came
about thunder
rolling
and lightening
striking
I'd stare out the window
and see that rope
dancin'
and I swear
I saw
a marionette
a kickin' up his feet
with every bolt's strike
and hollerin'
with every thunder's bellow
an old rope
darker
but sturdy
a newer rope
lighter
not dirty
and my blood glistened
when a paper cut my finger
and left its print on
the new rope
the old rope
with blood spilt
from other playtimes
stained
dark
dryly soaked
while time forgot
I imagine that blood
fresh
and red as my own
seeping
into the waiting earth
the earth where we
bury
things
the tree is tall
and its limbs cover
the horizon
imprisoning
it from my view
But I can leave that swing
I'm not tied to it ...
I have
liberty
my truth is found
in tranquility
the oak is old
but it will get
older still
oh, what tales
its roots could tell
of driving rains
and blistering heat
toil
the endless stare
into the future
and the things
we let drip into the ground
... to feed it
|
