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The old south

The old south is full of bad memories of war and death. This Found poem its a tribute to that idea.
by

Quincy Kelly

on 29 April 2010

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Transcript of The old south

My parents don’t recall it,
But that’s the way
Memory works in the south-
The truth is always lying
In some field somewhere between
The bones of the fallen
And the weapons they reach for
Her knife flies as lethal as love and
cuts quickly in like a hurried kiss.
The sun came out when I turned to walk away,
Glared down on me as I turned and walked away—


I was asleep while you were dying.
It’s as if you slipped between some rift,
a hollow I make between my slumber and my waking

Everyone under foot.
That's the doorbell, not the phone,
and it’s his body, but nobody's home.

Full transcript