Charles Clifford Brooks III had a poem, Wet Walks With Otis Redding, appear here as part of Contributor Series 9: If Men Had Ears. This poem is part of a collection that is forthcoming.
Nights at the Plantation
By Charles Clifford Brooks III
At eleven years old
By Charles Clifford Brooks III
At eleven years old
my great-aunt
gave me coffee.
Staying overnight
I slept on the screened porch,
coddled in that gentle dark.
Waking, breakfast,
it felt like the life
of a prince.
Extracurricular criminals
we plotted on leather couches,
smoked where Civil War
soldiers once stood.
These are unmentionable evenings
made from semi-automatic weapons
and Maker’s Mark.
A blue lady filters through,
then saunters across
the room. Dead come here.
A house breathing,
the unfeeling brick
speaks at night.
Ghosts watch us sleep
and whisper
gibberish.
I love this mystical poem. It would make a divine movie.
I liked this very much. From the coffee to the ghosts I found myself holding my breath. Good work.