~ Delta Poetry Review ~

A Wooden Shell

of what was once
a slave quarters

is empty, windows
and doors boarded up,

a dirt floor swept to a dull shine.

Rough logs
are barren, reeking

of old resin, archives of nightmares

and fitful, feverish sleep.

Small windows
have no drapes, shades

or blinds. Interior walls
loom like the late,

dark canvases
of Goya.

(Note: As blacks left the South in the 20th century, many of the cheaply constructed wooden structures of former black slave quarters quickly deteriorated and were destroyed. Others were used for equipment storage, garages, etc. Of the few structures remaining today, many are vulnerable either to complete demise or to suburban and resort development.)