Look Away

Look AwayI want to Know: Is there anywhere a land of goodness and beauty? Once I thought there was. The streets were lined with oaks. The houses were cool and shuttered. Men and women sat on porches telling stories. I picked blackberries on red ditchbanks and sold them to a Negro who made wine. I fished and hunted, in still waters, in still forests. The summers were long, the winters short. With a girl named Flora I swung in a swing with a long rope, and a quarter arc of an automobile tire for a...