From This Place
Black Warrior River
From this place
the morning sun sinks
into the brick siding
on this single-storied house
while the oaks, fresh
from their winter respite
renew their branches
small green leaves unfolding
and the fallen acorns
begin their sprouting
always where they are not wanted
From this place of ruddy dirt
the dogs break the morning open
cracking the sky out of its dimness
with their sharp calls and siren songs
speaking of sun and Spring
while the rusty soil lies plowed
ready for the summer garden
clumps of clay rolled and broken
by hoe and tiller
hard work and calloused hands
shape the soil into usefulness
From this place along the river bank
the town tries to define itself
patches of used-to-be-buildings
lie in rubble—bricks and mortar broken
there is a plan to build
it is talked about and written about
and the machines rumble along
detours spring up and the landscape changes
while the river, alive in its channel
understands that it will still flow
long after Tuscaloosa is gone
It is this place that I call home.
Pamela Olson, 4/12/09
For Read Write Poem’s prompt
“Where do you come from”
and One Single Impression’s prompt
“Live Water”
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