Jeffrey Hull

Constellations

They were dammin' up the river
   They were floodin' all our land
And Momma, God forgive her
   She just couldn't make a stand.
When Poppa died my Momma
   Didn't know just what to do;
And with period and comma
   They took my mother, too.

She died late on a Sunday
   Of a stroke, as Doc allowed,
And we buried her on Monday
   In a bedsheet winding shroud;
By the rose and honeysuckle,
   That's where she and Poppa lie–
And they watch Orion's buckle
   When he climbs the winter sky,

The way that Poppa taught us
   'Bout the Greeks and all their kin
From a ragged book he brought us
   From the Goodwill cast-off bin.
With their legal condemnations
   Ain't no use to make a fuss,
And they don't name constellations
   After simple folk like us.


© 2005 Jeffrey Hull