Toe
prints in August
(1977)
Carvings
stretched like pennies
Imbedded
in their walks,
Wooded
with splintered scents;
Town’s
people dared to gawk
As
I read ancient names—
I’d
swivel my head back
Around
again to see;
Street
names last history
shuffled
feet toe—I nursed
it
there to know its line;
We
left Mantorville when
Those
planks shattered the night
And
sun repressed our time—
Mom
and I passed Mayo;
Ten
minutes out of town
The
radio got quiet;
A
man delivered news—
He
told us Elvis died
Then
silence followed us;
Eighty
miles the wheat fields
Waved
singing “I’m all shook up”
And
I cried to mute them;
I
felt my toe again—
To
ease me from my pain
My
foot toed the dash;
I
was no Elvis fan—
Of
his famous lines to see
On
Memphis’s gracious lands;
“My
mama always told me…”
He
said in a song once—
Knowing
as mothers can be;
His
name was trod to stain peels
In
Mantorville’s street lights glean
Then
they’d bow dolefully;
The
“king” was dead and my
Toe
would always know the
Pain
etched my memory.
