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Flood Land, East Kentucky (Free verse) by zodiac

Beneath the house, old bottles that the river brung, white horse's skull, some Yankee coins, a rusty bike. When Noah cut his hand on it I lay with him, my darling boy, in his room with the junk he'd found: the glass was medicine, the coins were for his eyes, all this from in the house, but it was not of us.

ecargo 11-Sep-06/9:41 AM
Damn, you really are good. The dialect comes off as unforced and authentic (to my Yankee ear, it must be said--I guess the real test is how a Kentuckian would take it). Great details; restrained and, for that, quite moving pathos; all your usual magic. Even the meter works--alexandrines, for the most part, I guess? So much packed into such a short poem. Really well done.




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