Wednesday, 23 June 2010


Harriet writes doggerel. She improves. Harriet writes verse. She improves. Harriet writes poems. She's enthusiastic. She's single-minded. Harriet works at it. She keeps a notebook in her apron. A pencil stub is fastened with string.

Harriet works at it. She's single-minded. She can't be distracted. She will cut Jed off. She cuts him off midstream. Her poems are important. Her poems are personal. Her poems survive.

Harriet's poems give a view: They tell of love. They speak of loneliness. They seek deliverance. They pray for redemption.

Harriet writes one called Torn:

There ain’t no pennies from heaven
That ain’t just stones in the pathway
Rather be forgot than forgiven
And set free from this dark place
I don’t mean no aggravation
And to you sir, I wonder
If you can give me salvation
Why did you tear it asunder?

Sometimes Harriet has a tune. Sometimes she sings. Sometimes she lullabies her boys to sleep. Jesse goes out like a light.

Ray stares into the blackness.

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