Appalachian Heritage

a condemnation. Unbearable, so that I bore it, delivering myself into its excrutiating mercy. Zella waited in the doorway with a candle. "I'll take her," she said. "You leave her go now, leave her go, I'll take her. Oh my baby, oh my little sorrowing chile."«/® POEMFORANYSMALLSOUTHERNTOWN ©s»¿ as for their empty cause. ^ they are empty mer in which the dar'™violent and thin¿ sing no songs;£ there is a certain music ? in their thin, dead names ? upon their stones.¿ think only for a moment & of the hazy calm ? that fell upon their eyes. 1 how can I address them with blue fog rubbing itself on their stones and seeping into the grass which is grey, while clouds are cold as old brass¿ and the bones of soldiers.£ their women would have given souls§ to have broughtthem up again, ^ therotting uniforms, the skulls with vacant eyes, coffins stinking with wasted discipline, faces sunk beneath the grass,¿ beneath the sky,§ under stones £ & wherenolightgoes |£ and nothing warms with words. | \ in which the darkness, *£ violentandthin | ? is free to moralize. ? — Paul Rice 78 ...