Sawmill Man


My daddy wears sawdust
on his gray cap
and powders himself
with timber dandruff.

At night he walks,
across the soggy bottom;
pulls his shoes off,
sits barefoot on the porch

where he smokes,
drinks instant coffee, black,
and watches us catch lightning bugs
in fruit jars.

Behind him she rises,
that old haint, Sparks Ridge.
She looks over the valley to claim
the magic of his life,

a working man’s family,
to gobble us up
and take us down,
like oak tree roots,

take us down,
down, down,
down to her belly.

*first published in Other Voices International Vol.20

1 thought on “Sawmill Man

  1. connetta – ohio backroads – I was born Dec 30th 1952..I live in Ohio...i'm married ( 40 years- this time around) two children ( boy and girl in their 40's).., 5 grandchildren. if you stop by please leave a note so i can find your blog too... I especially love meeting people who don't write poetry but enjoy reading poems as well as others like myself..poetry came into my life as a child and never stopped budging me to write them down. I collect them in ink. This blog is a collection of my poems and pictures taken on the ohio backroads. if you find me a stranger my you leave as a friend.
    connetta on said:

    I’ve been reading your poems..your poetry touches the life of everyday people…i love them..couldn’t stop reading them.
    i wish you well. You are blessed.

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