elysabeth faslund (11/23/49 / Thibodaux. Louisiana)

Now you know, when I were little, I used to hide in the rushes and
Play in that black, thick, bayou mud...
Good for boils and all kinds things.
Them cranes...them white ones, shore was pretty in the
Early, early maunin' light...
'Course now, they done gone way away from all
Them car noises and bad kids with them B-B guns.
Caught one once, and me and his mama shore had
Some words 'bout what I did to that kid.
Stays out of my way now. You bet.

I had this fishin' spot where them purple water lilies
Made me glad to have eyes to see.
They's too, too many today.
Done ruined my spot.
And you know as well as me, that too much pretty
Just ain't pretty no more.

See that old, knotted-up oak down in the yard?
I'm gonna outlive it...
I done told it so.
If not, bury me right under that root
Stickin' out the ground...that oak
Ain't never gonna get rid of me.

And chile, there's one thing you got to remember
All your life...God ain't in no church...
He's right here on this black bayou,
Fishin' and relaxin'.
And He done chose the best damn place
To get away from it all...
Not that He skips out...and no one knows
Where He is.

All you got to do if you need to talk to Him...
Is to go down a little ways,
Till you come to that pretty place
I told you 'bout.
There's nowhere else more peaceful
He could be.
And, Sweet Jesus, if anyone needs peace,
It's Him.


(First poem published. Virgin Islands.)