George told me,
"ain't how long you live,
but how you live that counts"
strange he had clung to this
rock for double eights
and that he swore he'd jump
from a plane when he hit ninety, without
a parachute if he chose
those long linoleum journeys
when I wheeled him from his room to the dining hall
were the best part of my day
a minimum wage slave,
ending my graveyard shift
watching one after another leave
a thousand different ways
he called me "brown sugar"
I took no offense, for colored girls get deaf to such
jabs before we get bras
I knew, from him,
it was a term of endearment
since his red blood had earned
him ****** names like "Charlie Chief"
and "Drunk ***** Joe"
long ago
he told me grabbing melons
along the Pecos beat cotton picking
on the prison farm, and I never asked
how he came to know either
he said his squaw
was dead some forty years
his own trail of tears since
would never dry
no children had lived
to become great warriors
or proud princesses, though
he never said why
when I would leave George
at his table, the end of our daily stroll
he would bless his eggs with words
I didn't know
those who shared the table
sat mute and chewed their cud
as I walked away, I would never fail
to wonder, if I could find
a plane and pilot
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
George told me,
"ain't how long you live,
but how you live that counts"
strange he had clung to this
rock for double eights
and that he swore he'd jump
from a plane when he hit ninety, without
a parachute if he chose
those long linoleum journeys
when I wheeled him from his room to the dining hall
were the best part of my day
a minimum wage slave,
ending my graveyard shift
watching one after another leave
a thousand different ways
he called me "brown sugar"
I took no offense, for colored girls get deaf to such
jabs before we get bras
I knew, from him,
it was a term of endearment
since his red blood had earned
him ****** names like "Charlie Chief"
and "Drunk ***** Joe"
long ago
he told me grabbing melons
along the Pecos beat cotton picking
on the prison farm, and I never asked
how he came to know either
he said his squaw
was dead some forty years
his own trail of tears since
would never dry
no children had lived
to become great warriors
or proud princesses, though
he never said why
when I would leave George
at his table, the end of our daily stroll
he would bless his eggs with words
I didn't know
those who shared the table
sat mute and chewed their cud
as I walked away, I would never fail
to wonder, if I could find
a plane and pilot
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