The road gave out at a logging yard, Past a rusted sign and a shuttered bar. I asked for a bed, they pointed south, Said, "Follow the sound from the old pump house." There were wet footprints across the floor, Leading in but not out the door. A woman poured me a cup of tea, Then asked what my mother's name used to be. They nailed tin plates above the pews, Each one marked with a different year. I asked who all those names belonged to, The bell rang once. Nobody moved. Swamp saints, singing through their teeth, Bless the ones the river keeps. Sunday shoes beside the door, Mud keeps rising through the floor. Swamp saints, heads held low, Counting names the dead men know. (Keep your eyes above the water) I found a ledger behind the stairs, Bound in hide and smelling of pears. The ink had bled through every sheet, My family name on page thirteen. Beside it, a date in careful blue, And a note that read, "He'll come through." I heard my footsteps on the roof, Though I was standing in the room. The congregation turned their chairs, A hundred eyes and nobody there. The woman smiled, set down her cup, And said, "Your mother took hers up." Swamp saints, singing through their teeth, Bless the ones the river keeps. Sunday shoes beside the door, Mud keeps rising through the floor. Swamp saints, heads held low, Counting names the dead men know. (Keep your eyes above the water) I found my coat on a stranger's chair, My Sunday shirt was folded there. The ledger's ink was dry and brown, My name was listed under town. Swamp saints, singing through their teeth, Bless the ones the river keeps. Sunday shoes beside the door, Now there's mud beneath my floor. Swamp saints, heads held low, There's one more name the town now knows. (Keep your eyes above the water) (Keep your eyes above the water)
