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| All Rights Reserved. Copyright written material - Salley Fuller 2004/ All artwork Copyright - Bert Salley 2004 |
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| Poetry |
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| GOD’S LITTLE GIRL Gazing through the dusty windshield Of my folks’ 1949 Buick The town of Greenville came into view. Magical, though I never knew it. And so it began, 3 months of each year, Deposited with a minimum of bother. Summers of the making of my life Learned at the knee of my Grandmother. She was always dressed, wearing lace gloves, We went for a trip on the downtown trolley. A cheese sandwich at Walgreen’s counter; Wanting to grow up and look like Aunt Molly. Cat fishin’ with Grandpa at Huff’s lake, A sip of Coca-Cola, a promise not to tell. His big, black Plymouth taking us home, Not much farther, just past Monoghan Mill. Sundays were a special treasure: Sister Mary, her version of Amazing Grace. Hell-fire meetings held under a tent, An experience even time can’t replace. Sometimes I sat in a plastic covered chair In a great room filled with what-nots Feeling I was special, but not knowing then, My mind was gathering forget-me-nots. Tired from playing in Grandmother’s shoes, I lay down to sleep in Grandpa’s big bed. All outward sounds finally muffled, All inward thoughts were left unsaid. Pain simply never touched me in Greenville, In the arms of angels, my place in the world. It was there, as I now remember, I first realized I am God’s little girl. |
| My grandmother, Ada Fuller & me |
| THE STRUGGLE Most of my life, it would seem, I’ve wanted to be other than here. I’m not one who’s usually given to dream; Nor am I motivated by fear. But as I turn to ponder the past And to reach for the lesson it proposed I struggle to flee from the net that was cast By the inevitable future that I had only supposed. I supposed I’d always be young, That the years would only bring wisdom; And, of course, the comforts of wealth. Now I’m facing the “small print” condition. Care-freedom gathers abundant waste, The most valuable of which is time. My major regrets were accomplished in haste, Oh God, my punishment seems worse than the crime! How can you know when life’s sweet as fruit And Earth’s song sounds like a ballad? Years later, the Piper comes playing his flute And finds you’re the pickle in the fruit salad! continues above ... |
The average response will be one of shame. Tho’ for “average” I’ve not given to nest. I’ll refuse a connection, when He calls my name, To the best of the worse and the worst of the best! True, I should have planned better; Tho’ when counting blessings, it might have been worse. As for leaving a sour taste, it doesn’t matter. I’d rather be the fruit that is tasted first. So when I’m spat free by Mother Earth, Take caution in pointing your fingers. Father Time will have measured my worth: For I am the taste that still lingers. |
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| Click to Read Poems- Daddy's Girl & Mother's Apron Strings One Man's Heaven & Remember When from 'Who Put the Pickle in the Fruit Salad?' |
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| Since Aug 2004 |