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Beneath the Brooding Hill (Faith Goble) | by faith goble
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Beneath the Brooding Hill (Faith Goble)

My dear mother took this photo of me in the early 80's in eastern Kentucky . I was about twenty-five when this picture was made, and even though I didn't know it at the time, I was expecting my first child.

  

Beneath the Brooding Hill

 

I grew up in a mountain town

Where the sluggish river wound

Around the staid feet of the solemn hills,

Held fast

In the strait and sunless vales.

Stern, cragged mountains crumbled

Above dry hollows and dark dales,

While blue hills rolled and tumbled

Towards blue grassland to the west,

And they coursed across the coalfields

Till they smoothly came to rest.

 

The mountains’ black veins glittered

With their hard and mineral soul;

They took the fathers and the sons

As they gave up their coal.

And the heavy Mack trucks grumbled

With their anthracitic loads

As they rattled and they rumbled

Down the pitted two-lane roads.

 

The roads meandered over mountains;

The dying days meandered too,

And they both fell towards the lowlands

In a haze of smoky blue.

As each year approached its ending,

And gaudy autumn rolled around,

Sweet wood smoke drifted gently

From the hills above the town.

As little tongues of greedy flame

Licked along the feeding ground,

The corn shocks in the fields below

Turned a brittle palest brown,

And the stubble rose up roughly,

Daring time to drag it down.

 

And the crickets sang forever,

And they sing forever still,

In the little town that always lies

Beneath the brooding hill.

  

taken from Elementa (Loosey Goosey Press, 2008) by Faith Goble

   

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Uploaded on December 22, 2009