|Log Cabin Chronicles
A man's body lies upon a rough-hewn table,
where hands place wild flowers.
The woman leans on the window
and sheds her tears.
The older women talk and comfort her,
and puzzled children wonder about death.
He made the fields bloom
as he sowed coffee, corn, love, and pride.
He fed the roving rodents
and left his streams of sweat
into the land.
His paddle will never stir
again the river's waters.
His fishnet, his main inheritance,
won't rest for too long.
The land will welcome him,
but, like the crying woman,
will also miss the touch
of his hands.
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Copyright © 1996 Rosa Clement/Log Cabin Chronicles/07.96