Abandoning Red Hill

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


This is a nostalgic piece I wrote after watching a documentary on Vincent Van Gogh. Many of my childhood memories are woven into the poem.

Submitted: July 20, 2018

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Submitted: July 20, 2018

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Abandoning Red Hill
 

'Now it is a vineyard, like so many others;/But when you taste its wine, you drink the blood of your brothers.' From Red Hill, a French folk song.

I let someone else do the driving for a little while-
 

I watched the lines blur behind us, each racing after the next,
towards some vanishing point just beyond the Stuckey's sign;

 

I am abandoning Red Hill again.
 

I screamed to get in there many years ago,
trapped between Heaven and a birthing table,
taking in just so much air to mark some territory.

 

No, my feet don't fit my legs too well,
if lamp-burnt movies don't lie.
I spent more time falling in those badly-lit days;
I was learning to stand like a man, like a Midwest farmer manuntil
push came to shove, and I retired my number.

 

I am abandoning Red Hill again, and the weight of it scares me-
I will no longer have forts to defend from night-time attack,
and defenseless clay soldiers will have to fend for themselves.
(I will be back for you, I promise.)

 

Now the asphalt-hard truth is staring holes right through me-
Red Hill will never leave me, will never turn me away;
Red Hill will always be mine for the asking;
(I could never ask for more from any other memory.)

 

Pull over, I'm ready to drive now.
 


© Copyright 2019 Michael Pollick. All rights reserved.

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