Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2010
.It was mid-winter, 1927. Cold isn't even one of the wordsI would have used to describethat winter.It was more bone chillingthan I really care to remember. We were both young,Davie and I. November,before momma and daddydied was the last time we had heard from the man at the bank.Foreclosure was the wordthat formed icicles in my heart. We were downto our last can of beans.We were frightened, to say the least. We had no way to heat them,the wood was all burned.I swept away the old ashin hopes there would besome kindling there.There was not. Then I got an idea.When granddad was a boy,he collected chunks of coalthat fell from the trainsrunning from the mountain minesto the cities far away. The unused stall in the barnhad six large burlap bags full.I told Davie to stay put.The snow was so deepthat it took me over an hour to reach the barn.I filled up an old Diamond's potatoes sack plumb to the top.I retraced my stepsback through the snow,almost tasting the warm beanssliding down my throat. Davie's eyes danced upon my return, his tears dried the instant I opened the half frozen door. I quickly assembled a small pyramid of coalin the stove and set themablaze. They glowed like molten steel,as we warmed our hands. Iwarmed our last can of beansand exchanged worried glanceswith Davie.I told Davie to say the prayer,then we ate. The beans were good. Oh,Lord were they good!We chewed each one as if theywere made of gold.I woke with a yawn the next morningand the sun was shining. Davie had risenearlier than Iand he had even done his choreswithout being asked. I told him that I was proud of himand patted him on the backlike daddy used to. Suddenly Davie looked at me funny andhe handed me backthat same Diamond's Potatoes sackI had just emptied the coal from last night. He told me he was cleaning the ashfrom the stove and he found this pileof glass stones.I looked closer...
Written by
Please log in to view and add comments on poems