Fall 1965 • Vol. XXVII No. 4 PoetryOctober 1, 1965 |

Victory

Granny Hill—no kin of course—said only sayings: "Bad luck to drop your comb! . . . Windstorms come west. . . Bad luck to plant a cedar . . . . It'll shade your grave." Something forgotten, her face became obsessed; She drew a cross-mark in her tracks, Spat in the cross, before she would turn back. The Saint girls mimicked her: Bad luck, bad luck! "Come spend-the-night, girls—We'll eat boiled butter and eggs." Carrying a lantern, Doctor Will One fall night walked her orchard on dead legs, And after that she had his power, A remedy (some, though, severe) For ingrown nails, chapped hands, consumption; She talked fire from a swollen hand, Was never sick herself. Her face resided in a puckered bonnet; Her clothes grew on her like a turtle's shell; Bonnet and skirts smelled faintly henhouse. Her Sally was a goose, Shrill and dried up, And where her baby came from no one knew Unless it was George Jeans Who drove the thresh. But there was harmless, Foolish John, A man's beard, rou

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.
Eleanor Ross Taylor was a writer of poetry, short fiction, and literary criticism. Widow of the noted novelist Peter Taylor (1917–1994), Taylor was associated with a literary circle that included figures such as Randall Jarrell, Robert Lowell, and Robert Penn Warren.

Read More

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.