In the Embrace of Mountains

Mountain soften the gawp of sun far beyond the boondocks, where the fog plays in stillness, ‘fore the banties arouse the glade When life came to Bottom Land bare feet stomped common paths Between the tall oak trees echoes stood for seconds, as tiny voices cartwheeled from hanging rocks that bite into the dell The Good River lend a hand, Big Sandy, to water the Bottom Land, three acres that fed nine mouths and satisfy our bellies When the snow turn up, and pile high on the new year, like cotton on a mule cart, Pap wore rags to keep his toes; we count ten in early spring When God send Roosevelt and the WPA, Pap wore cow hide boots like men ought to The log cabin was heaven; we lived like gods In winter, we listen to the hissing of burning fir and pinewood, and Pap’s alluring hunting tales Ma’s fried-green tomatoes and cornmeal pancakes were more than quails falling ‘fore Mt Horeb, and Pap was more than Moses, We loved more than Israel, far from the isle where milk and honey flow