Goodbye, Charlie
You know you've lived
too long
when you're still
alive after the trees
you planted have died
of old age.
The air is turning
and the leaves
the hurricane left
crumble underfoot
like distant memories.
The sidewalk
at Main and Commerce,
where Cee Tee, all
crossed eyes and paranoia,
combed his greasy hair.
The auditorium. Sy,
bent half in two
over a wheelbarrow
selling chewing gum and peanuts
His cowboy hat and skin,
black and lined
as a story.
Violins at night.
Nellie lost to the flames,
Dabney's beautiful eyes,
Leigh Ann's hands and
the bay gelding at the
county barn that
sixteenth summer.
Mud swirls in patterns
in the river, arrowheads
and pottery shift on
ancient sandbars,
disappear, appear again.
I thought I heard you
calling from the porch,
but it was just
the subtle thunder
of a passing storm.
Saturday morning
and the sky
is gentle blue
Has it been
only three years
since I watched
a mother
find
her dead son's
marine uniform
in the ruins
of her home?
soiled in ways
that will never
wash out.
The detritus
of a nation's
failure rubbed
into the fabric
of the world
Politicians smile,
announce the coming
victory
raise joined hands
in triumph
speak about a bright
and shining future
They do not see
the haunted eyes
of frightened souls
fleeing from the coast
and the sky
such a gentle blue
today.
"What's wrong," he asked, |
and she gazed, passive |
past |
the foot of the bed, |
considered |
whether to tell him |
how she felt, wondered |
whether it was worth |
the extra tension, whether |
it would pile up |
against the door |
like snow, |
pinning them inside. |
The rain poured down |
like complaints, the storm |
downgraded |
from a hurricane |
to a nagging |
wife. |
She thought |
about concessions |
she'd made, things |
she'd left |
unsaid |
to keep the peace, |
and sighed, sadness |
eating |
at the corners |
of her eyes. |
"Nothing," she replied, |
"Let's read." |
She picked up |
a magazine |
and read aloud |
in a voice |
that was sure |
and confident |
but never speaks |
out of turn. |
Photo Credit: Http://flickr.com/photos/wizmo Thank you, Wizmo!The first time I noticed him it was the holidays – I can’t remember if it was Thanksgiving or Christmas. I was driving home on
It was obvious what had happened; it broke my heart. How could someone just dump a little dog like that? You could almost hear him shouting, “Wait! Wait! You forgot me! Come back.”
As the car drove on, he gave up and trudged back toward his post by the gate where he’d been left. He couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds. He was just a little terrier mix, cute as could be and desperate to find his family.
I parked my car and got out. He stopped, eying me -- wary and distrustful. Remembering all the dog advice I’d heard throughout the years, I tried to make myself as unimposing as possible, and crouched down on my knees, holding out my hand.
“Come on, fella,” I coaxed in my highest singsong voice – the one reserved for babies and pets. It almost never fails. “Come on, baby!”
But he wouldn’t come. If I tried to inch closer, he ran away, refusing to be bribed with kindness. So I went home to get something more tempting. I came back with cold cuts from the fridge. But he was adamant. All he wanted was his family, who he was certain were in the next car coming down the road.
The weather forecast for later in the week was for below-freezing temperatures. Lying in my warm bed, I wondered how he’d make it. The next day, my father and I set out a humane animal trap, baiting it with leftover roast and hiding it behind some branches so it wouldn’t be stolen. But no matter how many days we left it freshly baited, he wanted nothing to do with it.
In the meantime, we and several other area residents began putting out food and water for him, comparing notes on our efforts to catch the little scamp. Somehow he survived the cold weather, even seeming to thrive. He moved up onto the embankment by the road, where he’d sit like a proud watchdog, guarding his little kingdom by the
Every day on my way to and from town, I’d hold my breath, hoping he hadn’t been hit by a car. Often, I’d not see him at all, and wondered what had become of him. Then one day there he’d be, watching for cars and running after them, day after day, then week after week, the little white, elusive phantom of Kingston Road. I dubbed him “Phantom” in my mind, and saluted his persistence. Some days he looked so cocky and proud I laughed aloud, and began to look forward to seeing him surveying his little kingdom.
Finally one day about three months later as my father crested the hill, he saw what we’d all been dreading. Phantom lay beside the road, perfectly still while a kind and concerned woman bent over him, looking for signs of life. He lay breathing but unconscious and broken. Daddy took him to the vet where he died later that night. It was painful and it was sad and it was all so unnecessary.
I often wonder about the people who left their little dog by himself on the side of the road at holiday time. I wondered if they ever traveled down
I regret not calling the Humane Society – something that in all my efforts, hadn’t occurred to me. I don’t know why. Perhaps they’d have been able to catch him and prevent a senseless death.
I attended a fundraiser for the Humane Society at The Elms last weekend. They’re raising money for a new shelter with more room and better facilities than the one they’re presently using with even enough room for the occasional horse, mule or other large animal.
In lieu of a roadside memorial for Phantom, I think I could honor his memory best by asking you, Reader, to make a donation to the Natchez Adams County Humane Society. And, please, please, don’t leave your pets to die painfully on a lonely road. The phantom of
Natchez Adams County Humane Society
392 Liberty Road
Natchez, MS 39120
601-442-4001
Mailing address :
P. O. Box 549
Natchez, MS 39121
Please denote on check whether your donation is for the building fund or the general fund. Thank you.
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When I was a kid, our neighbors had a camphouse out in
the country in Rodney, Mississippi. In the late
1700 - 1800's, Rodney was a bustling river-port town.
During the Civil War, it was fired on. There's a church
there still standing with a cannonball lodged in the
front wall of the building. After the war, the river
meandered off course, leaving Rodney without its
port. There's practically nothing there now except for
a few little shanty shacks and hunting camps.
Anyway, my childhood neighbor, Claire, was in town
and wanted to ride out there. We hadn't been in nearly
35 years or so. So we called my other childhood friend,
Alma, and her friend, Eric, and rode out there.
We weren't sure we'd make it. The Mississippi River is
at flood stage, and although Rodney is no longer right
on the river, it's still flat bottomland, and floods
occasionally. We made it out there, although the water
had crept right up to the road where the church is. As
we were leaving, we talked to a woman helping her
96-year-old mother evacuate the little shanty house
she's lived in all her life. She was hesitant to leave,
creeping back across the creaking old plank stretched
over the waters to recheck the lock on the door, only
a few feet from where an alligator had been seen a few
minutes prior.
I was ascared of water mocassins, but Claire was
determined to climb the forested hill behind the church
to see the old deserted cemetery where some of her
ancestors are buried.
The cemetery is amazing. I thought it was just going
to be one of those family-type plots, but as we walked
further and further into the woods, I realized that there
were headstones poking up out of the weeds and
trees as far as I could see. We couldn't tell it yesterday
because spring is here in full growth, but if it had
been wintertime and the hills all bare, you would've
been able to tell that one of the rises we were walking
over was actually a gun embankment.
Well, amazing as it is, we didn't see but one snake, but
Alma's called today to tell me she'd found two ticks on
her, even though she wore long jeans tucked into boots.
I took no such precautions, so we'll see how I fared.
I thought I'd post a few of the pics I took. It was an
eerie, amazing place, full of magic and mystery. The
graves date way back to the early 1700's, filled with
the souls of those long dead and buried, and being
consumed by living plants.
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