Carne Levare

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You Must Read Poetry

Posted by Remy on May 21, 2009

“Grampa”

 
Look him.  As quiet as a July river-
bed, asleep, an trim’ down like a tree.
Jesus! I never know the Lord could
squeeze so dry.  When I was four
foot small I used to say
Grampa, how come you t’in so?
an him tell me, is so I stay
me chile, is so I stay
laughing, an fine
emptying on me —
 
laughing?  It running from him
like a flood, that old molasses
man.  Lord, how I never see?
I never know a man could sweet so, cool
as rain; same way him laugh,
 
I cry now.  Wash him.  Lay him out.

I know the earth going burn
all him limb dem
as smooth as bone,
clean as a tree under the river
skin, an gather us
beside that distant Shore
bright as a river stone.
 
— Dennis Scott

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