The Bell That Wouldn’t Still
On recalling a childhood in the fields
It tolls again, that iron tongue
though no tower crowns the yard today.
I was a child, and barns stood wide,
their rafters high their beams half gray.
Men laid their hands to bridle straps,
women drew milk in steaming pails,
and all of us, hushed by that single sound,
stood still among the hay-strewn bales.
I see the frost on meadow grass,
a thin white seam along the plain,
steam from mules rose and drifted,
yet they moved on, I see them plain.
The bell had marked some solemn call,
though what it meant, we all knew.
Its tone sank deep into the soil,
and turned the day a darker hue.
Years have run, the farm is gone,
the yard pulled down, the fields rearranged,
yet still that sound comes back unbid,
as steady as it first was strange.
It rings through work, it rings through rest,
though no one else can hear it swell.
Memory keeps what earth lets go,
and time is bound beneath that bell.
Author's note: The bell sound that I remember is my granny's dinner bell. It's long gone silent now. But I still hear it.
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Comments (5)
That’s beautiful, Tim! Your imagery put me in some rolling Kentucky hills. I really liked the sense of size you evoke in the beginning, making us shrink down into children to see what you’re writing. Loved it! Thank you for sharing.
Glorious work Tim!
You’ve evoked the scene beautifully, tenderly
Your imagery of the frost, the animals, and the hush at the sound of the bell really transported me. Just beautiful.
This was so poignant and emotional. Loved your poem!