He was my papaw and he was my father's dad.
When he died in 1994, it was both tragic and sad.
If Papaw had survived, he would be celebrating his birthday.
If he hadn't died, he would've become 100 years old today.
He was born on July the 28th of 1923.
Today he would've lived for a century.
When Papaw took some medication, he became very sick.
He died six days after his birthday because he was allergic.
Dad was hurt by Papaw's death and so was I.
It's always painful to learn that a grandparent is going to die.

By nine, trucks old and new
line the street, spilling into the yard.
Jim Beam and George Dickel
lubricate the chord progression.  
Drinks go down, volume goes up.
I’ll be reading in the backroom
as Pap raises a glass to Hank Sr.
When the last burning drop of homage
trickles down his chin,
he gyrates across the floor,
flat-top in hand, looking for Jim.
Some other picker takes his spot
by the fireplace and bellows
about a cheatin’ heart.  
One Saturday, I rescue Huck Finn
from under the pale, bearded face
of a picker who stumbles into my room,
collapsing across the bed.
His dreams of Ryman Auditorium
go without interruption.
I slip to the floor,
settling down on the raft.
A slow, steady current carries
us downstream to another shaded
swimming hole.


© 2011 C.T. Bailey

You died twenty years ago today.
On February 7, 1998, you passed away.
You were born in 1910 and died at the age of eighty-seven.
Twenty years ago, you left this Earth and went to Heaven.

You became a widower in 1957 and had your kids to finish raising.
You finished raising your kids by yourself and that was amazing.
When you died, it was something that I hated.
You were my Papaw and you were appreciated.

Please, read this with the thickest southern accent you've ever heard. It's my language. It's my home...


Hee Haws on the TV
Chicken's fryin' in cast iron skillets
Taters and maters scent mama's clothes
no AC
Papaws in the bacca field
Granny's sippin' on sweet tea
The law stopped comin' here they say,
Back in '23
The fruit's ripe for pickin
daddy did that last week
He said the Apple brandy
Tasted perfect,
bitter sweet
The moonshine makers meet
When the crickets sing at night
they pass around mason jars
'neath the moon
and southern stars
The wine stays burried till fall
muskadine,
other than strawberry
the very best kind
The yanks
buy it up
Its funny to watch 'em
they can't handle their stuff
The Demory Mart stays busy
oh Lord it's so much fun!
When the moonshiners play pool,
till the rising of the sun
Momma don't like it,
Lord she gets so mad!
But she puts my church shoes on me
and I know she still loves dad
But now the still's turned green
as copper always does
There are no moonshiners left
Time has passed, just 'cause
Papaw's gone
the fields have grown up
there are no moonshiners left
it's all store bought, mason jars
have turned to cups
Demory Mart is Yankee owned
the church has indoor plumbing
But late at night, I hear the banjo's
and the stills, copper humming....

Papaw was born in 1910 on the first of May.
He died a quarter of a century ago today.
After living a long life, he died at the age of 87.
Almost ten years ago, Mom joined him in Heaven.
He had six kids but the youngest didn't survive.
He was my grandfather while he was alive.
On February the 7th of 1998, it was Papaw's time to die.
He was my grandpa and it was sad when I said goodbye.

1.      My mother’s mirror makes me look way better than any other mirror. I’m half convinced she put a spell on it or had it blessed to make me feel more beautiful. The way it reflects the light puts green specks in my eyes and a rosy sheen on my cheeks. It makes my hair look softer, my edges smoother. It takes away those fifteen stubborn pounds. I think, maybe, it just reflects my mother’s love.

2.      Red headed boys have it out for me. I have had my heart broken five times and four of those were by red headed boys. **** you, Ronald Weasley for igniting such an infatuation-no, obsession-at such a young age.  It seems that no matter how badly the fire burns, I always seek out another flame.

3.      The people who pass on before us are allowed to paint the sky when they feel like it is needed. Part of your welcome to heaven package is a paint brush. My papaw frequently sends me glorious sunsets and starry nights when he knows I’m feeling sad.

4.      The first time a rough boy put his hands on me, he didn’t do so in a mean way. We were young and he pretended to know what he was doing/pretended that it wasn’t wrong. The second time, he realized he now had control over me.  Though I was never forced, I was manipulated. I do not cry ****, but I still cry.

5.      Growing up Catholic taught me that *** before marriage is wrong. What if part of me thinks *** in general is wrong? What if I can’t take the *** without imaging the unwanted hands all over me? What if my mistakes have made me into an unlovable monster? What if I am too weak to say no to *** and too weak to say yes to love? What if I can fall in love or fall in ***, but never both? 

6.      My mother’s mirror makes me look way better than any other mirror. I know it is because I see my reflection the way my mother sees me: beautiful, strong, unbroken.

I have 17 rounds for my thirty aught six, and
a five gallon barrel of kerosene. 
My Papaw would have said,
"you're set son," but
I bet he never counted on
all of our best Uber drivers
sliding off the side of Signal Mountain.
Who knew suede shoes weren't weather proof?
We used to pray for a way to make it through
one more unbearable winter.
Now we pray that the power stays on so that
we don't have to burn coal oil and
experience that unpleasant odor.
Praise be for The Tennessee - American Water company.
That's where water was invented.

Less than 10 miles from my house
is an insane asylum
(Granny said "nervous hospital")
(Papaw said "***** hatch.")
It is built on an Indian Burial Ground.
There is an adjacent golf course.

How long, oh lord,
before we get to see
affluent white men
in stupid pants
running for their lives
from a swarm of psychos and
the ghost of
the displaced Noble Savage?

My mind often conjures
Up sweet memories
From days spent in youth
Beneath Loblolly Pine trees

With feet in red clay
Blue Carolina skies
If you catch me in daydream
That's where you'll find

Running through fields
Of tall Johnson grass
Rolling down hollers
Powered by laughs

Not a care in the world
Old or brand new
Kids being kids
Whistling Carolina tunes

My Papaw's old store
With worn wooden floors
Old men sitting round
Telling lies longer than yours

Fishing and hunting
Sport my memories
Keeping alive
These Carolina dreams

I never thought you would be gone so young.
But when we lost you the first time you fought to get back to Monica and the kids and God allowed it. This time there was no fight left. It was your time. When I saw your body laying there, I thought what if maybe that breath of life would come to you again. But this time God said enough. Joshua it is time to come home. And when that happened God gave me a peace and let me know this time it was fr.
I miss you brother make our home in heaven great with God. Gather everyone and tell stories. I bet you are all in glorified bodies with God having a great time. People that you haven’t seen in years. I bet those biscuits n gravy with papaw taste good. (I’m sure God would allow it) I wonder if this world felt extremely short to you now you are living in eternity. How is eternity? Is it boring? Is it fun. Does it feel like it’s eternity? Is there a concept of time?
Have you met ppl from the Bible? Have you been with Jesus and God? Does the trinity make more sense up there?
Man, while I’m here I’m gonna be there for your kids best I can.

I received a few little letters
Scattered by my shining sun
Digitally mastered, he has overcome
Somewhat (insert a pause)
(I struggle for the word
For mixing up letters - you know the one)
DYSLEXIA!
He enquired about his grand sire
Wanting to know everything
Every little thing
For he perished when he was very young
He then recounted to me
His one remaining memory
Of finding a tiny little turtle
With great glee and awe
On a walk between our two houses
And their interchange there and back
Now I can but wonder
Would he have any idea
that one small adventure
Would be all that remained
In a boy’s mind, now a man
With two boys of his own
Of their short time together in life?
When he swung his walking stick
And batted that tiny turtle into the pond
Would he have reached over
And picked it up instead?
Or let the boy who was so excited
To find a tiny turtle on a walk
With his beloved Papaw
That memory has the same impact
As your walking stick on a tiny turtle
I suppose.
I do indeed wonder as I sit to compose
Words for my grand babes to find
And come to know me by
And I let that Sun’s memory guide me
On our little walks now....
We might find a little tiny turtle.

A Lady and Her Two Knights

For their Nona and Papaw

Three young adults walking along to Mass
Pals from childhood, arms around each other,
Laughing, and pausing briefly for a mama-picture -
For them, even October is their spring

And in this springtime of their lives they offer
All of their happiness to Our Lord Himself,
All together Ad Altare Dei,
To God who giveth joy to their youth1

Three friends laughing, taking the morning air:
Two knights honored to escort their lady fair

1paraphrased from the Missale Romanum of 1962

“Papaw, whatzat?”
My granddaughter asks,
As she watches me
Pull my pocketwatch
From the front of my bibs
To check the time.
“That’s my watch.”
I tell her,
As she holds it in her hand,
Intently studying.
She shakes her head.
“It takes too long
To know
What time it is.”
She remarks.
Out of the mouths of babes…
But I like it.
The slow deliberate
And quiet ticking
Of the pocketwatch
In my bibs.

My Little Pony makes me think of papaw.
Weekend visits with Saturday cartoons,
We’d sit in the living room together and watch tv
Or read the newspaper.
He’d whistle so softly that my ears would strain to hear it.
Then he’d fall asleep and small snores left him in
Tiny puffs of breath.
The newspaper lay forgotten in his lap.
Eventually, he’d wake up and try to act as though
He’d been awake the whole time.
“That one is Applejack, right?” he’d ask
And although it was obviously Fluttershy,
I would ask playfully if he watched it when I wasn’t there.
But, overtime
The snores darkened
And the breath more shallow.
I began to listen more to his breath than the show,
And watch the rise and fall of his chest instead of the screen.
I waited on edge for him to wake up.
And he would.
Except, he stopped waking up last year.
His snores evaporated
And his breath died.
And with that,
So did my love for my little pony.

The space you left in this family is hollow
Cold hands upon my cheek
That’s the last thing I remember about you

I should have been there sooner
I should have told you I loved you more
I should have told you thank you

How could you be gone
I stand outside and the sun hits my skin
I close my eyes
It doesn’t feel like you are gone

There is no poetry to describe the way I felt
Watching them take your body away
It is like a morning that never ends
Time stands still in a empty strange place
Where you no longer were

Just so you know,
Gammy never left your side
And when they did finally take you away,
She laid in your spot for hours

We miss you, we miss you
I have had you in my life for twenty three years
It will never have been long enough
With a beautiful soul
Like yours Papaw.