A Natchez Childhood

Goodbye, Charlie 

You know you've lived too long 

when you're still alive after the trees 

you planted have died of old age. 

 The air is turning and the leaves 

the hurricane left crumble underfoot 

like distant memories. 

 The sidewalk at Main and Commerce, 

where Cee Tee, all crossed eyes and paranoia, 

combed his greasy hair. 

 The auditorium. 

Sy, bent half in two 

over a wheelbarrow 

selling chewing gum and peanuts 

His cowboy hat and skin, 

black and lined as a story. 

 Violins at night. 

 Nellie lost to the flames, 

Dabney's beautiful eyes, Leigh Ann's hands 

and the bay gelding at the county barn 

that sixteenth summer. 

Mud swirls in patterns in the river, 

arrowheads and pottery shift 

on ancient sandbars, disappear, 

appear again. 

I thought I heard you 

calling from the porch, 

but it was just the subtle 

thunder of a passing storm. 

 by Elodie Pritchartt 

 *Photo of Sy, the candy man courtesy William Stewart Collection, Historic Natchez Foundation