- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Backdoor Folk
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Click herePapa did chores for Mista,
puddling dirt with sweat and dreams.
During last year of dry days,
I took Papa his medicine.
He'd drink long and deep, then belly-laugh
for the sun to fetch him more heat.
Sometimes, Mista propped open the back door,
letting flies and us folks into the kitchen.
He wasn't much more than a poor man himself,
but had a good life, with beans cooked along side
better than sowbelly, and shoes on his tender feet.
His fat wife would give me cornbread dripping hot
with what they took for granted.
Most folks wouldn't have us sit down for supper,
but Mista liked the way Papa spun a tale,
weaving it around like a big-eyed spider.
Papa told Mista about Uncle Cob and the wake.
"Oh, the wailin', Mista!" Papa got all big when spinning.
He was a shadow looming over yellow and red squares
that stayed grainy with salt.
I'd drink buttermilk 'til it flowed over,
clinging hand-me-downs to skin, while I listened
to how Uncle shot up out of that casket
and leapt from the window, taking curtains and glass with him.
"Uncle Cob weren't ready to go over yonder
to that place far away."
Mista gave Papa some cornbread
to tote with him at sundown.
Papa was a good man that fed his family
and made Mista laugh —
but never forgot he was backdoor folk.
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copyright d. dixon
2002
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- COMMENTS
unpredictablebijouover 15 years agoy'know, just to help out the more mediocre among us. And must it be four or five slices of brilliance every damn week? What the hell, what are you, some sort of angel-driven machine? And by the way, the line "weaving it around like a big-eyed spider" took the last shreds of my self-esteem as a poet, so I just hope you're satisfied. feh.
lorencinoover 15 years agoYep! Folks who've been praising this poem with its richly textured peek at a slice of life, somewhere, sometime, have it right. The poem just sneaks a hand out when you're not watching and grabs you tightly to its comforting bosom.<br><br>
If there is a book of your poetry in the offing, I'm completely sold—print an extra one for me.
UnderYourSpellover 15 years agoWow I see a picture that you take me into and I feel the sun beating down on a rich tapestry of life held for just one moment in time. I haven't felt this good about a poem for a while thankyou so much for letting me read it
Angelineover 15 years agoI think you could lose some commas and I'd move "hot" from the end of its line (so the line ends with "dripping" and the next starts with "hot"). I can see some words that could come out, too, "the" and "with," that sort of thing. I'll send you an edit. But really it's excellent. :-)
Your poem has been recommended in today's new poems reviews on Literotica's Poetry Feedback and Discussion forum. (But you knew that already.)
