Part one
Two pillars, a long drive lined with oaks
Planted before the time of Lincoln
There is no sign or name visible
No national landmark status
No museum or restoration society plaque
Just an overgrown carriage path
Leading to a long forgotten plantation
All of it dust and dirt
The pines and palms hold in their souls
The sound of the songs sung in the fields
By the workers toiling the crops
Of the low country of old Carolina
Before emancipation and freedom
Freed them from the bonds of slavery
And it tears at the strings of my heart
And it wakes me up to some reality
I have never faced
Part two
Down the road a man works the land
His sign says peanuts, turnip greens, mustard greens
He works the soil of coastal Carolina
He earns a living, he’s happy, he smiles and says
” sorry boys I won’t have boiled peanuts until April”
His friend is on the ground under a pickup truck
He works with his tools attempting repairs
A woman sits on the tailgate of a mini van
Seeking refuge from the February sun
It’s 75 degrees today
I can’t imagine what they do in July
Part three
A church sits empty, the parking lot over grown with weeds
A tired sagging wooden structure, white paint faded and peeling
Weathered and worn by long hot summers
Pounded and flooded by the likes of
Hugo, and Floyd, and Bonnie, and Charlie
And finally the one thousand year flood caused by Joaquin
The church sits in silence
No sign of its pledged faith remains
The gospel preached and the hymns sung are now consigned
To the memory of those who celebrated God
Within its hallowed walls
huffingpuffpost 