Prior to his second inauguration, Governor Andy Beshear sought for Kentucky Poet Laureate Silas House to pen a poem — one that would bring Kentucky’s promises and plights into perspective.
Wednesday afternoon in Frankfort, House gave a three-minute recitation of his work “Those Who Carry Us,” which includes a number of local references to this part of the Commonwealth.
Serving in the laureate role until 2025, House is best known for his novels — though he spends considerable time as a music journalist, environmental activist and columnist.
Fictional works like “Clay’s Quilt,” “A Parchment of Leaves,” “The Coal Tattoo” and “Eli the Good” focus on the natural world, working-class characters and the struggles of rural places and rural people.
A native of Corbin and Lily, he is known as a representative for LGBTQ Appalachians and Southerners.
THOSE WHO CARRY US
When I was little, a storm gathered in the night with shivers of lightning and quaking thunder.
The rain fell cold and sideways for three days.
All the creeks conspired to the raging river.
As the flood seeped beneath our door my mother sat me on her hip.
She carried me, muddy foam striking her knees, then her waist, before she reached high ground, where neighbors waited to help us.
Once, my aunt ran down the road with me latched to her chest, a tornado behind her.
In the church basement we could hear the havoc.
She whispered: if you are still and quiet this will pass.
Afterwards, a mighty moon shined so bright I could see our shadows as the world dripped and righted.
Already people were rebuilding.
Even hammers and saws make a kind of music.
Often, these days, I study on those who carry us.
The everyday people who keep the engine of the world running.
When the darkest skies move in, I remind myself that most people are good.
I think of schoolteachers who say: You matter.
Bus-drivers who are glad to see us each morning.
Lunch-ladies, laughing as they ladle out our food.
All those who stand up for what is right.
There are so many ways to change the world.
The mechanic and miner, mail carrier, cashiers and clerks. Singers, farmers, and truckdrivers.
I can see them.
I imagine their sore shoulders and tired legs.
I thank them for carrying me, even when I didn’t know.
We carry each other, from Pine Mountain to the Pennyrile.
Past tulip poplars and goldenrods.
From city streets to holler roads, from the wide Ohio to the quickening creeks of the Gorge, we go forward, together.
We lift our neighbors from Hickman to Hindman, Mayfield to Louisville, Cadiz, Cumberland Falls, Falls of Rough, from the Bluegrass to Bowling Green.
Eminence to Independence.
Lawrence, Laurel, LaRue, I will carry you.
Kentucky, we walk a ways together, no matter if it is in cold rain or moonlight.
Sometimes the only music is hammers and saws, but we keep going, aiming for the high ground where they will be standing with their arms out, saying:
Come here, and rest. Let me help you.
