—after Joyce Sutphen and Thomas Lux Because he got twice the money and his name in the paper, he would pick two hundred pounds of cotton per day to have the first bale ginned in the county. Because years later he would pass a field of white and say, I’d like to get out there in that. Because he was good the old way. Because he was a horse whisperer, gifted at taming wild horses. Once he bought two paints when the train came through town, and then wrestled them home, tussling with them through the pines, grappling with them in ditches—at times, bottom upwards—at last gaining their trust and earning their support to make his corn and cotton crops that year. Because he could plow a straight row by using the mules’ ears as a compass. Because he worked too hard. Because he was a pig farmer, good at picking out a good frame at the hog sale. Because he could sing one verse of one song, Were You There When They Crucified My Lord? Because he could give a good haircut to the little one pitching a fit under his scissors. Because he doctored his feverous children with Vicks Salve and Mentholatum, encouraged their health with a little sody water and Coker Colers. Because he was always broke. Because he took pride in mending his fences, perturbed when he saw his teenage son sloppying up the job. Because he wanted pretty bundles of kindling for Mama’s cooking, bundles stacked neatly like his worry. Because he was known for the best coon dog in the county. Because he would cut a cotton stalk to use on a recalcitrant child. Because he used it. Because he sacrificed, considered himself the least among the brethren— if he went hunting with you, he gave you the best birds and kept the mangled, shot-up ones for himself. Because he had a thing for food, wanted bread, meat and grease on his table in and out of season. Because he rode in an airplane only once in his life. Because he was good the old way. Published: Verse-Virtual, 2024
