Well pinheads inspired me again...remember the talk about Snow Hill and Snow
bottom ....well the following is on an old memory....brought to light by our
conversation enjoy or wrap your fish in it ..Pyrate
Intro
For most people from out of state a bottom is the South end of a north bound
mule;
however a bottom down here is a highly cultivated piece of "bottom land:
where the best cotton or crops are grown.
The following story is about an incident in Snow Bottom;
a black community of a few ramshackle shacks, a blind pig (illicit bar ) and
a juke joint (illicit bar with music)
This little collection of humanity has existed on the border of the Delta
since slave times . Its Robert Johnson country; old and alive as the blues ever
was.
The story is short but best to download and read at your leisure. Michael
Snow Bottom
I was working my broom into the corners of my open roadside shop when a late
model sedan pulled up.
I stepped from cool dark shade of the bay door into the blinding light of
the noon day to see whats up
The tinted window glided down and a stranger hollered at me over the din of
his country radio station ......
"Whars Snow Bottom" he shouted
adjusting his volume dial from a caterwalling roll of a rock-a-billy
yodeler.
I lowered my head; parked my gum to my back molars
then leaned over my broom and eyeballed a pie bald man with bushy eyebrows
and impish grin wearing the starched working kaki of the old school .
Old professional ;..I thought who still wears his work clothes.
He had a happy thought full face and kept company with a snappy little
Jack Russel terrier who scampered back and forth over the front seat like he
was going places....Important places .
I thought long trying to get my bearings , .....and stared out at the road
ahead
The day was hot ;90 already at noon time and the only traffic past my dirt
road was this stranger and a turtle who was trying to make it across to a
neighbors pond,
The name Snow Bottom came frightenly back to me like a forgotten lover at my
doorstep.
Suddely the moment it was for real .
One night long ago in a juke joint on the edge of the delta an ebony beauty
walked me and my life outside into the sultry heat of a Mississippi
September evening.
There under a silver moon the two lovers drawn together by raw passion
ravaged all earth bound dignity and tore at the soul of love in an
unbridled raw act of pleasure that mirrors this earthy paradise of primevil garden
Ripped from memory; until this strangers call I had forgotten Snow Bottom.
I had forgotten because I wanted to forget;
Our passion was raw and forbidden and I didn't want to face it , I couldn't
face it . It wasn't me ..but it was ..it was .me and I was ashamed ..
Transfixed to memory I peer down the distant road into the noontime haze
,trying to recolect how I got there .
I see her standing before me in a lush savanah; naked in silver shafts of
moonlight that cascade down her etherial brown body; illuminating her sex in
rivlets of moist sweat
Her lip quivers nervously; she awaits me and embraces me quickly and
suddenly.
We tremble and tear at each other like animals , then softly and slowly we
build and
let go the the sparks and fires of our torrid encounter with fervid
abandon letting go little crys and soft moans that take to the semi sweet
magnolia air over the white dreamlike miles of cotton to a magical moon only to
hang on the very stars themselves. .
Wake up, wake up dreamer ; I m caught staring at the road ahead
I had forgotten evenhow to even get back there.... Yet here I was
She said she was just "passing through";and said she would'nt be back ,
No... she couldn't be back It just wasn't possible
.In my mind I couln't let her back Yet here she was .
The strangers Jack Russel barked his impatience ...and broke the spell
I regained some composure and proceeded to tackle the request at hand by
placing my hand on the door of the sedan and carefully tilting my head towards
the gravel of the road.Then with the studied reserve of a local dirt farmer
expectorated a warm stream of saliva into the red clay of the road
I then locked my one eye on the stranger and rattled off what I knew on how
to get to Snow Bottom
. , ."see this road here " I said pointing to the first dirt road ;
take this around 10 mile or so ; you will pass the little town of Paris
don't blink as it is only 2 or 3 houses . After Paris, there is Midnight; which
is just about the same
at Midnight the road splits; but don't get confused,
go left, which will bring you past the village of Thorn, which is just a
gas station and a post office , and then on to Tickey Bend.
Now.... when you gets to Tickey Bend, the road splits again ;....Go left...
again
that takes you up top Mars Hill . Now.... when you get to Mars Hill stop at
the little country store
Most of tyhe time Miss Arlene is there back of the counter thats under
the licorice twists and some fishing lures so old the hooks have rusted off .
I can't remember exactly where Snow bottom is, meybe its on toward De Lo ,
but she would surely know as its up there near her.
The man moved his chaw happily to his other cheek , muttered "two lefts "
then waved a warm thanks and moved off slow letting the tires raise and swirl
the lazy red dust before me like a genie let go from a bottle waiting
for her last wish.
Michael
Stonemasons journal
all/rts 2003
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