top of page
Search
  • Writer's pictureWick Fields
    • Apr 15, 2018
    • 1 min read

My People

by Wick Fields


I'm not terribly well bred

My family, both sides, were just folks

They worked the fields of Georgia

Sold moonshine up by Rabun Gap

Just people who survived, not much more.

Mom's people came over from Belfast

Settled in Appalachia with their thick Irish brogues.

Played fiddles and stormed Normandy

Saw dead eyes roll back there

That's before the hedgerows, which were even

worse -- slaughter grounds.

All just to survive, to sit on a porch

Waiting for Christ.

15 views1 comment

Recent Posts

See All

Oh the flames Whipping wild at city gates In Rome and Beijing and Cleveland Frightening the old Half cold in their graves And surrounding the young Half hung by their age. Oh the flames Lapping low at

by Wick Fields Every night I'm revived From the day's incursions By the language of the dead Because I'll tell you this No army can march Over Raymond Carver's mercy.

by Wick Fields There isn't enough time To express the wholeness of things There is only time To survive the blast.

bottom of page