Tuesday, March 29, 2011

A Poem from way back.


There is a mesa over there,
see, to the east?
Oh, I know, the locals,
of which I'm one,
call it Pilot Knob.
It's Gabriel Peak
on the map.
It's a mesa to me.

In my youth I heard
the tales of my
great-great grandpa
William R. Seward.
He worked on the fabled
Smithwick Mill
on the Colorado,
not THAT one.
The one in Texas.

On moonlit nights
he'd get his horse
and ride to Pilot Knob
courting lovely Jenny.
The ride was far,
at night on horse.
I think he loved her.

We had Indians, they say.
both deadly and mischievous.
They knew the man
and the horse.
They wanted the horse.

In shadowed darkness
they'd lie in wait.
For horse and man to come.
They'd whoop and yell
and whip their ponies.
The race was on.

How many times
did they run that race?
How many times
did he win?
I know that he won.
Lucky for me.

That's almost all I know
about William R.
Perhaps that's all
I'll ever know,
or need to know.
It's enough.

On moonlit nights
I stand out here,
watch that mesa
over there.
I swear I can hear
pounding hooves,
a whoop and then
just the wind.

I know he's made it
once again.
I tip my hat
to memories
of old stories
and go inside
to my own Jenny.

Bill Seward
Jan. 26, 1998

1 comment:

  1. I couldn't locate a picture. The poem is about Pilot Knob, or Gabriel Peak in Williamson County, Texas. It is a flat topped hill that does resemble an Arizona mesa. It stands above all the rolling countryside in the area.