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Up
on the highway
on a lone remaining pasture
is an old neglected cabin
leaning
precariously to one side
trying to keep its balance
and its dignity
Just a one-room house
that's lost its porch and doors
a part of its roof
that's turning the color of Spanish moss
turning back to nature
The
old cabin is all that's left
of a farm, a homestead
of a poor dirt farmer,
his wife and 8 kids
who desperately struggled to make a go of it
but could
not hang on
could not outlast the droughts
the falling prices, the Depression
who
just ran out of luck and money
and will
Now cows graze up next to the cabin
walls
and Daddy Long Legs lurk in its corners
owls make nests on its rotting
rafters
and people toss trash inside
blaspheming a memory
But on a
windy night
under a sliver of September moon
you can hear what sounds like
whispers
coming from the cabin
what sounds like ma & pa talking
about
the falling price or cotton
the well that's going dry
about baby Isaac's
cough that won't go away
and the note that's coming due
and what happens
tomorrow
when the landlord comes around
And in the dark of night
if
you listen real close
between the boards
through the cracks of the cabin
you hear the sound of
tears.
© d.knape
October 3, 2012
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"Once Upon A Line" - Light verse and poetry by d.knape
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