Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal

The Front Lawn of Tara

Deborah Rey


Nothing but tears today.
Not self-pity tears,
not tears of pain
just lonely tears,
and tears of loss.

Nothing but tears today.
Tears of longing for Tara's
old, old oak trees and
green fields of peace,
and Mr Wilkes, my Ashley.

Today is too late for
tears about the past.
I must go back home,
go back to Tara and think
about it tomorrow.

Then, on the day tomorrow
is, I will take some
red, red Georgia earth
and raise my fist,
and swear to G-d.

I'll turn tomorrow into
today and gently whisper,
"Come, my dearest Ashley,
come, let's go, go to our
Tara of perfection,
our utopia of dreams.

Sit with me and mint julep
sipping, watch our
families play as if they
had always been together,
were always one."

"Rest your soul, Miss Mellie,"
you will say and
dry my tears, and dance
with me. There, on the
front lawn of our Tara.

***

Deborah Rey has, ever since she was a little girl, worked as a broadcaster, entertainer, scriptwriter, translator, editor, and actress in the Netherlands, Canada, and the USA. She is married, has one daughter, one grandson and lives at the French Atlantic coast, with her husband, the Dingo-Dog and six cats. Her work is published in 'Voices from the Web' 2005 and 2006 (Anthology UKAuthors), and on-line at The Blue House, SubtleTea, and Flutter.

© Deborah Rey

Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal ISSN 1554-8449, Copyright © 2004-2012