Record
Oil-Drum Vine for Marjorie
- Duration
- 2:44
- Last aired
- Today, 07:11
- Played
- 105 times
Lyrics
Verse
On a tin roof over the canning plant I count the names
Marjorie on the one with a pale scar, Ruth on a blushed round thing
I water with spooned rain from a jam jar, steam on the metal edge
My hands remember ribbon; my hands remember her coat
He arrives with a satchel gone soft from the sun, seams like riverbeds
Sips warm water from a jar, smiles like he’s swallowed a cloud
He says, “There’s a valley where rain still falls, real rain,” and his voice folds
While I lift each fruit as if lifting a photograph
Chorus
Tomatoes for the gone, I call them as if calling home
I name them and press them to my ribs, I trace the vanish with my thumb
He presses a wrinkled one into my palm and the world tilts soft
I plant his town under the drum and hope the green will come
Verse
He talks of a road with poplars and a mailbox that leans like a bow
I tell him about Maggie, about June, about the small bright ways
He laughs, a careful sound, tucks a seed in my hand for safekeeping
I tuck it in soil warmed by the boiler’s distant sigh
Chorus
Tomatoes for the gone, I call them as if calling home
I name them and press them to my ribs, I trace the vanish with my thumb
He presses a wrinkled one into my palm and the world tilts soft
I plant his town under the drum and hope the green will come
Bridge
Before he climbs down the ladder he says, “If ever the road calls back,”
I say, “Bring rain,” and plant his town where my fingers still smell of him
Chorus
Tomatoes for the gone, I call them as if calling home
I name them and press them to my ribs, I trace the vanish with my thumb
He presses a wrinkled one into my palm and the world tilts soft
I plant his town under the drum and hope the green will come