This one was finished, not published, during last year's O Bheal Poetry Challenge. (Each poem, however long or short, used five words provided for that week.) It's not a family story. All through (and before) history, people in the Appalachian Mountains have hidden things, projects, valuables, reserves, sometimes ourselves, in any available cave or space between the chunks of limestone that make the mountains.
With lamps put out to save coal oil,
He honed his blade by firelight.
The steady scraping of his toil
Lulled her to sleep on many a night.
Mornings, he walked into the town;
An office job; the pay was good.
Returning home, he turned off down
Beside the creek to work the wood
He’d hidden sheltered from the rain
In the cave, where rocks would not erode
Before he’d used knife, saw, and plane
To shape the cradle from the load.
The water broke at 2 a.m.
He went to the cave, having sent the word,
And prayed God would be kind to them,
And served his child as if his Lord.
In old age, when his sleep grew light,
He muttered to the stars above
Whether he’d fled the awful sight
Of birth from cowardice, or from love.
Amazon book link? Right up. This one is also historical fiction about a cave in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It is based on bits from several Scott County families' history, including mine.
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