Elegy, and: Election Day

Elegy

Gathered in the yard, shed-side, pokeweed, black walnut, pecan tree all leafed and umbrellaing. My grandmother, the relatives

constellating after my grandfather’s funeral as the sons and grandsons spill their beer and whiskey-on-the-rocks obeisance in the weeds

among my grandfather’s metal underpinnings— wheel axles, piled riggings, the teeth and claw digging and rooting tools. The goings inside

for chicken and cake. My grandmother won’t sleep in her bed tonight, she’ll stay on her sewing room’s single mattress, the walls’

peach, floral lace curtains, the black enamel Singer’s needle pierced mid-stitch in fabric. After the burial, I sit at her sewing table

and roll off my nylon hose. In view above, a photograph: my grandparents and their children in front of their old house

and fields. The seven sisters aligned on one side, the six brothers on the other, a flock’s V-flight, beside my grandparents.

My grandmother’s apron over her dress, her work interrupted for this. Beneath my grandfather’s straw brim, he’s staring off

into his soy crop. For the final breaths, my grandmother held my grandfather’s hands and wiped wet swabs over his lips.

Inside the photograph, inside their old house’s right angles and load-bearing beams, there was a long table set with jarred peach preserves,

sorghum and peppered vinegars; there was a maze of rooms, a new one added for each two children born. That house burnt down

some time ago. I remember the late-night call— nothing was saved, not even one spoon, my grandfather saying gone is gone.

Election Day

No one picked in the fields on Election Day. The trucks drove us to a picnic on the Bluff. The children sang songs like it was Sunday. We ate salads, melons, and iced cakes.

The trucks drove us to a picnic on the Bluff. We filled our plates from the barbecue drum. We ate salads, melons, and iced cakes. Cold drinks in a tub the size we bathed in.

We filled our plates from the barbecue drum. Balloons bobbed in the air around us. Cold drinks in a tub the size we bathed in. The adults leaned on trees, kept to the shade.

Balloons bobbed in the air around us. The children jumped rope, drew in the dust. The adults leaned on trees, kept to the shade When the midday beers were done.

The children jumped rope, drew in the dust, The men, one by one, signed their ballots. When the midday beers were done, Who knows where the votes went.

The men, one by one, signed their ballots. The man you sharecropped for chose your say. No one picked in the fields on Election Day. The children sang songs like it was Sunday.