b'Black Diamonds We Stuffed StrawGrandma T. was always too cold there into canvas bagsIt wasnt always fair weather our mattressesWe would go out coal picken: our hair shirts . . .After the big pile was plucked My first nite of freedomGrandma and I with sticks on a real mattresswould pigem out of the ground. was like floatingEven then I was aware of on a seaweed bedthe powerful primal act going on of pussy willowsAn old hunched woman and a childRooting the ground92 93'