Saturday, November 10, 2012

For my folks

West Texas Blues

To lie under a night sky bleeding darkness.
To hold onto the hope of rain.
To sit in the shade of a beat-up Chevy.


Sing a gospel tune
hearing the voice of
the old preacher,
Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?

Shell peas,
shattering the silence
of the enamel bowl
‘til the day cries “Uncle”.


To make an angel in country dirt.
To dance with a cowboy poet.
To call back God.