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The Lonesome Life of Minnie on the Mountain
by David HillMinnie on the mountain
spinster in the woods,
living an existence
no one understood.
Sunny flower print dress
mouth full of false teeth,
faux pearls round her neck bone
brogues upon her feet.
Weather beaten pine shack
perched upon a crest,
way up Hoot Owl Holler
just past Raven's Nest.
Rain storm torrent water
tumbles down the hill,
funneled to a barrel
just beyond the kiln.
Black cat crowned Rasputin
hound dog dubbed Monet,
wintertime companions
pass the lonesome day.
Collards cooked in fatback
cornbread dipped in cream,
peaches from a tin can
mountain folk cuisine.
Lifetime of creation
stored about the place,
boxed up in the rafters
every open space.
Country wives and farmers
toilers on the land,
images of people
born in Minnies hands.
Knew not where it came from
never called it art,
molding life from red earth
satisfied her heart.
Governmental stipend
pittance for her wares,
shopping in the market
shrugging off the stares.
Bric-a-brac and knick-knacks
scattered through the town,
but a raspy whisper
she was once around.
Minnie in a creek bed
shovel in the clay,
eyes turned to the blue sky
when she passed away.
Minnie in the mountain
neath a bowing tree,
spent life with a vision
others couldnt see.
03/22/2006 Author's Note: Minnie lived just so, in the mountains of Virginia. Do you feel a certain wonder at those who create without expectation of appreciation or reward?
Posted on 03/23/2006
Copyright © 2026 David Hill
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/23/06 at 04:20 AM Your words have created a very real world for me. I like the short, concise lines that lead me on to the next - good flow. Minnie found her muse - "satisfied her heart". Thank you for this. That we should all be so expressive for the sake of expression. |
| Posted by Tom Goss on 03/24/06 at 04:18 PM Evocative and weaved with vibrant authenticity. |
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