October Bluefield Sky
John Clare Stokes
When a little boy in a Florida fall
Mamma would gather my sister
and we’d go down to the Y in
the Sopchoppy 319 road,
my little blue suitcase
packed for a stay or two
to board the Trailways bound
for Bluefield, West Virginia
to see Monnie and granddaddy
Richard
the retired Crumpler to Northfork
bus driver
to see chain smoking and gin
Sipping Andy Ford salesman
in the new Mustang
Uncle Kermit
Who drove mamma
In fifty five in the January snow
To deliver me
and to see his brother Don
up on that steep Castlewood
drive with the cool Army gear
which cousin David and I
would play
While Paula and Donna Lynn
thought of ways
to escape Aunt Mabel’s fussing
over
To run up the cow fields with the
Daniels dairy boys
The dank sweet smell of the
Cold milk stored in bottles
For the route
Or play Fred Biletnikoff football
with the red headed Thompson
twins
Florida State seldom topping the Mountaineers
To climb the black cherry tree
In front of Grandma Carrie Ethel’s
And eat more than I picked for
Monny’s pie.
Then high on East River Mountain
behind the brick house with the
dark basement with the real little girl
Stove my mamma had as a girl in Crumpler
The Red Ridge Runner narrow gauge
train would whistle down the mountain
and we’d beg someone to take us up
For a ride in the black Buick
Uncle Kermit couldn’t
He was smoothing out next door
Uncle Don couldn’t
He was down at the telephone plant
Monnie wouldn’t
She had a cherry pie in the oven
But mamma would
And up we’d go
Down Cumberland road
To turn and go up by
Bluefield Beaver High
to see everyone way down there
as Aunts and Uncles and Cousins
And friends below.
And so it was in that Bluefield October Sky.
