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Return to Black Creek


Black Creek runs through hickory woods

where the Appalachians touch heaven.

Carolina cool waters trickle downstream

where memories float away like willow leaves.


Riding my bike down the dirt path lined with pines

it leads to Black Creek, my childhood haven.

Blue-black water, wide, and deep, largemouth bass that

hide under woody debris along the bank of yesterday.


Along the creek’s edge a rope swings from a birch,

splash! I let go over the deepest part.

I see the marsh and swim out to the reeds.

My father calls from the shore, “Time for dinner.”


The song of a Carolina wren lingers through the hills.

Cypress knees jut upward like memories begging to be kept.

A brown snake slides off bushes into the dark flow.

Black Creek claims these hills.


Fifty years later, I returned to Black Creek.

Shiny marina, seafood restaurants, and a state highway.

My childhood is submerged in a deep chasm.

Fading memories are all that are left of Black Creek.


Published by: Losantiville Press, Change Happens

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