Summer At Blue Creek, North Carolina

There was no water at my grandfather's
when I was a kid and would go for it
with two zinc buckets. Down the path,
past the cow by the foundation where
the fine people's house was before
they arranged to have it burned down.
To the neighbor's cool well. Would
come back with pails too heavy,
so my mouth pulled out of shape.
I see myself, but from the outside.
I keep trying to feel who I was,
and cannot. Hear clearly the sound
the bucket made hitting the sides
of the stone well going down,
but never the sound of me.

Poem topics: , , ,

Rate this poem:

Add Summer At Blue Creek, North Carolina poem to your favorites

Add Poet Jack Gilbert to your favorites

Popular Poets

Robert William Service (0 poems)
William Henry Drummond (2 poems)
Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme (0 poems)
Trumbull Stickney (6 poems)
Rupert Brooke (94 poems)
George Parsons Lathrop (82 poems)
Amy King (6 poems)
Matilda Betham (66 poems)
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (84 poems)
Gregory Corso (2 poems)

Popular Poems

On Receiving A Book From Dante Rossetti, by Sydney Thompson Dobell
On A Gentlewoman That Had Had The Small Poxe, by William Strode
Clock Striking, by Charles Lamb
The Flying Gang, by Banjo Paterson
A Sonnet, by Freeman E. Miller
Outer And Inner, by George Meredith
The Stoush O' Day, by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
To Mr Brown On His Book Against T---, by Thomas Parnell
The Pumpkin, by John Greenleaf Whittier
Sonnet Vi, by Elizabeth Barrett Browning