In mountains of North Georgia,
Way back up in the sticks
Cousins visit old maid aunts,
‘twas nineteen sixty-six.
A blustery evening,
Giggly girls set their stay.
Fierce winds blew in mad clouds;
Fast they came—cold, dark and gray.
Together aunts lived, retired.
Left that hot cotton mill.
One was short, quiet, and stout;
Other—tall, loud, and frail.
Plump one – “Ida” – was shut-mouthed,
Pensive, stared into space.
Skinny one – “Lize ” – talked a lot,
Nervous, vexed, twitched her face.
Old and idle, life’s labor done,
Stopped sewing denim britches:
Now off evil mountain spirits,
Set loose there by witches.
Together they worked real hard,
Their chore weren’t no bother,
Kept away them evil spirits,
From creeks, hills, and holler.
From the well about dusk time,
Drew buckets, toted water.
Filled big jugs about their beds:
Turned by mountain potter.
Before bedtime they rocked firm.
In wooden straight-backed chair.
Dipped strong snuff, spit on a log.
Shooed evil from blazing fire.
Lize’s chair – a cold shiny wheel.
Once rolled Studebaker.
Now keeps her safe, foils the plan
That witches have for her.
Aunts took serious their job.
Not by force it they chose.
Moonlight came; they snaked and laced
White string between their toes.
Cousin girls at first were scared.
Then doubted; then intrigued.
Vowed by sleep-time aunts’ cause
Would be known, this they both agreed.
“Why do you do these strange things?”
One girl asked her old maid aunt.
Smug-face twitched, spat snuff on fire.
Then bragged: “Seed airy haint?”
From: SIT A SPELL:
An Anthology
Joe Cobb Crawford