Fort Pillow

I’m snugged down in my bedroll when I hear
the shots. They snap like dry branches.
Ever body’s shouting. Them other coloreds,
not us regulars, them contrabands come up
from Memphis last week shout the worst.
Been jittery ever since they found our camp.

Forrest, they say, he’s meaner than the devil’s
own worst dog. Say he thinks it’s fun to kill.
We done our own killin, I say. Get two
for ever one of us. They scratch their heads.
That big one with the scar cross his eye,
he say that still could mean us mostly dead.

I’m up out of my bedroll and I see’em
making for the fort. Low on their bent knees,
heads down, and the Captain telling us
already to fall back. Then, I don’t hear
a sound. I wake in the dirt and I’m crawling.
Warm blood on my face, in my eyes.

Might be I’m pulling myself to the Rebs,
might be away. Then I’m off the ridge.
I’m tumbled down the slope to the river.
I’m in leaves and roots. I’m sliding off
the trunks of trees that hold to the steep side
by who knows what deliverance.

Now that I’m an old man, I come back
to find where I lay. Deep in leaves and tow
beside the water. The river’s moved,
half a mile away. It’s like it don’t want
to stay near what happened. The firing’s thick,
then stops. The Rebs are whooping. I think

I know the truth. First, the clang of shovels.
Silence comes on soon. Old as I get,
that quiet still won’t come. Men’s voices
rise in anger. Others moan and plead.
I know them by their music, like the evenings
I was a boy in Virginia. Songs from the field

so sad I knew I’d have to run. Not to get shut
from bondage, but free from them songs. So sad
they’d raise the Savior off the cross.
The voices didn’t last and the quiet never came,
even after the shots went on, after the ringing
shovels, the last whoops and the clop

of horses riding off, after I found a piece of tow
and pulled myself on it to float down the river
in darkness.

*Dr. John Bensko has an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from The University of Alabama and a Ph.D. in 20th century poetry and narrative technique from Florida State University. Before coming to The University of Memphis, he taught at The University of Alabama, Old Dominion University, Rhodes College, and, as a Fulbright Professor in American Literature, at The Universidad de Alicante, Spain. Dr. Bensko won the McLeod-Grobe Poetry Prize for 2000. He is Director of the River City Writers Series for the 2005-2006 season.