What I'm Certain I Don't

From My Childhood, I Remember A Tiny Old Woman Named Mary, Made Pale And Almost Translucent By Time. Mary's Childhood Memories Extended Back To The Confusing And Violent Finale Of The Civil War, And She Told Stories Of Brutal Murders In Those Days And Refused To Name Some Of The Killers, As If Dead Men Might Still Be Prosecuted In The Late 1950s.

The Sixties Were Different In An Isolated Place. We Got Two Television Channels If The Wind Was Blowing In The Right Direction. The Radio Stations Went Off At Sundown. Then You Picked Up Chicago And Heard The Teenage Music You Really Yearned For.

He Tried To Name Which Of The Deadly Seven Might Apply, And When He Failed He Decided To Append An Eighth, Regret.

A Lizard In The Spring - Hear His Darling Sing. A Bird With Wings To Fly - Go Back To His Darling Weep And Moan Till He Dies. A Mole In The Ground - Root A Mountain Down.

He Had Been Alone In The World And Empty For So Long. But She Filled Him Full, And So He Believed Everything That Had Been Taken Out Of Him Might Have Been For A Purpose. To Clear Space For Something Better.