(from my book by the same title)
I used to run down Mare Creek Road,
Stopping occasionally to pick dust-laden blackberries that grew alongside the ditch.
The dust didn't hurt them much--
I can still taste the sweet burst of flavor.
The sun seemed warmer then,
And days seemed longer;
And the water that poured from that Eastern Kentucky mountain tasted cooler.
And families were together.
Now families are no more.
And the dust and the blackberries are covered in concrete.
But the waterfall still pours,
And the barefoot girl that ran down Mare Creek Road is slowly and with sure
foot making her way back home. |
