Stump Baby

Ol’ Ms. Shutters, 

Prayed in spits and stutters

Lived a mile down our dirt road

She was a holy roller, 

When the Spirit grabbed a-holt her

She rattled on in secret code

Ms. Shutters was something, 

lived with her fifth husband

They’d gotten used to being alone

She told me a story, wove some allegory

About a child she once called her own

She couldn’t keep her, left her for the reaper

In a basket on a stump in the woods

A family came and got her 

and made her their daughter

Raised her like good Christian people should

Was that little daughter me?

Am I her stump baby?

Imagination says maybe

Or was Ms. Shutters playing with me?

Mama and Papa never taught me ‘bout the

Ways of the birds and the bees

Their generation spoke in old translations,

Turns of phrase in proper company

Cows in the pasture, I decided to ask her

Where that baby calf came from

Caught Mama in a pinch, 

Said cows find them in a ditch

Believed her ‘cause my Mama wasn’t dumb

If cows can find their babies, 

then logic says that maybe

Little girls can also be found

On stumps in the forest in early August

Just a-crying and a-lying around

I have a brooch given me

Scrimshawed in ivory

A drawing of a girl baby

On a stump on hands and knees

Oh curse…

My gullibility