Yellow Slicker

Poem By Debra Coppinger Hill

She wears his yellow slicker,
though it almost drags the ground,
It seems to make things easier,
as if He is still around.
He’s left her some big boots,
she was gonna’ have to fill,
But his old yellow slicker,
seems to give her the Will.

The Will to keep on going,
the Will to be strong,
The Will to make their dreams come true.
and remember where she belongs.
She wears it to feed the cattle,
and when she cleans the stalls,
She hangs it on that high nail by the door,
and remembers, He was tall.

She wears every time,
storm clouds came rushing in,
She even wears it sometimes,
just so the tears will not begin.
She wears it to keep the wet out,
and to hold the cold at bay,
It eases the hardness of the ground,
each time she kneels to pray.

She wears it to chop the tanks,
and when she mends the fence,
She wears it on the best of days,
and on the ones that make no sense.
She wears it though it’s ragged,
and has completely lost it’s charm,
Because, if she is inside of it,
she is back inside his arms.

It’s just an old yellow slicker,
but it makes her life complete,
It reminds her what’s important,
and it keeps her on her feet.
She’s worn it across a life-time,
and she’s never felt alone,
She’s raised their kids, raised their cows,
and she’s made that farm a home.

When she’s gone; she tells the kids,
'Just hang it on that nail in the barn,
When you look at it, your hearts will know,
His yellow slicker saved the farm.'

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I went to work for him that year,
early on in the fall.
It was my job to help feed,
water and clean the stalls.

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While the Ancestors worshipped
they shot them one and all.
They thought they had stopped the dance
as they watched the Old Ones fall.

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On cold days
when the stock is gathered
near the tanks
and the steam rises from the water

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You pushed us down that dark cold trail,
where the old and young ones cried;
And said this land was forever ours,
but that was only lies.

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The traffic flies by at a fast-paced clip.
they say on a warm day it’s a nice little trip.
The county came in and smoothed out the road,
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Echoes Of The Canyon

They say that she is crazy
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Listening to the voices
that echo from the rocks.