Requiem for a Thought

Driving Through the Delta in Winter
Phillips County, Arkansas

As the fog rests its feet
Upon the delta soil, and the road
Meandering through the land
Is silent save for the old tires’
Low hum on the pavement,
And the remnants of the rain
Rest between the rows
Of cotton and the cotton left
Droops and hangs from the rain,
An old house lies in the field,
Writhing and dying alone
Among the trees.

The cracked glass
And broken boards,
Warped and twisted, like scars
Marking up a body,
Grow with the cotton – Season
To season – just as the vine
Snakes up along its side,
Griping each scar and crawls
A little more. The house knows
No time. In a few moments,
I will be gone (just passing through),
But the fog will be there,
Anyway, it will always be there –
The house that is.