On The Way To Bainbridge

Down along the roads

In the cracks and crevices

Of south Georgia that are so hidden away

You feel you could be lost forever

Were you left here

Swallowed up by the land

The long and rolling rows of peanut fields

At the end of which lie

The dreams of slaves, tenant farmers, and lonely teenagers

Where countless creeks are shrouded

In the umbrella of oak, wild muscadine, bay, and poplar

A secret garden filled with the pungent odor

Of poorly drained soil and rotting leaves

Clouds come late of an evening

Restless skies bringing brief relief

Settling the souls who make their lives here

Into the dust and iron pebbles

And the swarming insects

Who keep the teeming hoards at bay


©2020 Lenny Wells

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s