For Alma Christie
When Portland is soaked wet with rain
And the rivers overflow
When soil washes away again
And no sunset is aglow
Do you climb the hill to DeMonteven
And look with longing towards the cove
Does your heart search trees and heaven
Followig the cries of the wild wood dove
When the Pouie blossoms falling
Cover the meadows in gold
At Mona on a quiet evening
Does a longing grips the soul
Will you walk to Golden Grove again
The moon is asleep in an empty room
Smile like a sheet and cover the pain
The missing years are hungry with gloom
Lewis ask me for you, and I just
Could not reply, you vanished
Like banana wharves full of dust
Like drought in which men famished
Like sugarcane lands swept away to make space
For the new architecture that status boom
A veneer in an economy of labor's disgrace
Lewis spoke about you Alma in his gloom
Shall I tell him I saw you last
In that dress of gold, the same
You seem to wear, as if to cast
A spell, or to cover shame
That all your dreams was but a wounded flight
You cannot wipe like sweat that banana stain
That memory of a softer, gentler night
That longing in the heart sweet as a Portland rain
It is the city's fault, my dear
Enticing dreams from the bush
Leaving the banana like fear
Fraying us in the wild rush
You were a better soul than we esteem
I heard your kindness spoken to me
The promise to pay for a withering dream
The selfless gift of you honesty
And yet for this you were abused
Did you hear the hand repent
The heart knew too late how it losed
The better soil, the content
Of truth, left wasted in the city's dark
Gone, gone, all goodness gone
Except the memory of your loving mark
Upon Portland now and sun filled dawn
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
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