West Virginia Oh, mountain people why are you so connected to a place? Is it do to the grace, the bit of Eden that still remains. Land of Frosts Fire and Iceplayed out. By Axe and fire, your breast coat cut away to fuel the growth of what could be seen as parasites to you. Yet you draw them close and name them as your own. And bid the Red Tale Hawk keep watch. Raising us up, lifting to the blue, purple against the summer green of the Appalachians. Land of laughing blue water, come… Adopted, be baptized by Naps Creek, washed clean by the Greenbrier. We were born again at the birth place of rivers. Spectators, exploiters, do gooders, come just close enough to get the renaming all wrong. They see our dirty faces and cry poverty. Hear our mournful twining and assume weeping ignorance… They look over Her as a landscape, dim to all around them, save what serves Narcissuss reflection. Some have pulled this, festering false skin on as truth. Look away from shadows cast by others and toward yourselves Sons and Daughters. See your reflection in the eyes of the Red Tale Hawk. Child of mine honed from soft limestone that line my arteries. My children of the mountains you were once like parasites to me, but now we are one body. The hardness in our face reflects the hardship of the dying and rising worker everywhere. We shell be named Mother Jones rename as Winnie Fox for some. We teach great strength in the poverty of self leads to riches of spirit. We shell be named: Margaret, once born as John Brown. We turned the wheel of revolution which with time and will may free us all still. The voice, your voice, ours Songs, birthed from beginnings, still crafting futures on Americas tung… Picked up by folks like Louise McNeil, she bard out into this new world by yet unspoken words of youthful names like Adam Brown. And what of the Red Tale Hawk? As first bid, I still observe the making of a land, its people, and in them, the rise and fall of nations.
Posted on: Sat, 29 Mar 2014 19:42:56 +0000
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