Chickasaw Plum-Poem

Chickasaw Plum

Blood of warriors, winds of life

Rain and hail, tall oak trees wife

From prairie winds her breath does take

From ancient waters, thirst does sate

From aquifers, deep, vast and wide

The breadth of oceans, ancient tides

Drink she does of lives before

Of lovers, killers, wagons, more

At her feet rest powdered bones

A race of men, now past and worn

Dust of many, wives, and loves

Together form the loam she loves

Driving rain from springs young wrath

Bitter cold, sharp biting rasp

Cutting gales of howling sleet

Old Man Winter falls asleep

Blown and tossed she clings on tight

Though storm and blizzard, hellish night

Through Augusts’ heat and scorching veil

She scrapes a life from earth and hell

Thin and brown in roasting sun

His seed she holds in spring’s new womb

As budding blossom swells within

Till fruiting young her limbs shall bend

Eager limbs, both strained and spread

Produce new life of prairie red

Tiny, sweet and born to suck

I take her fruit with thankful touch

Looking out from campfires flame

I see the plums the prairies raise

In tall, thick thickets, fat with fruit

Gorged with sweet, Gods prairie loot

Yet just beside and closer still

My brown-skinned bride I eye with pride

Thin and brown in roasting sun

My seed she holds, in spring’s new womb

For it’s her I write of, wife and friend

Her sweetest, softest fruited breasts

And soon, when all my writings done

I’ll have my sweet, my Chickasaw Plum

 (C)2011 Wayne Wilks

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