D e s p i t e 1865

...in the beginning,
when insignificance
upheld its worth
and passed torch
to pertinence,
vouchsafing they
who laid down their souls
in fresh cotton fields
with leaves hung on stems,
hot. bloody sharp
as rusted steel knives,
pricking and piercing,
the sweating paled flesh,
the pulse twitching nerves
of subluxed spines,
over again,
and over again -
over and over again
for water and stale cornbread.

poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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