JOURNEYS come and go, leaving, courting the bone.
What if my greatgreatgrandpap George’s legacy held his tone
Of “plantation” in my ear and vanity spread its con
And forced me to linger right here on Paul’s Hill to atone
The wishes of the greatgrandson, my dad: “Stay, Shub, with me:
And we will hunt the dogs and fish and farm; this Place will be
Yours someday”: my mind wallows down and swallows rainbows.
I leave my father lounging on the bed, musing so –
Wherever I lean I turn slowly by leaving,
The schooling philosophies I had no clue of learning –
The Law, English, Religion, Algebra, Spanish – colleges –
Plus my father’s possum hides in cracks collecting weevils
Through destiny’s flight I live on to take
What universe’s tall, hard ride holds me in its wake.