Joy

by Madeleine Froncek

She was born in east Texas, 35 miles outside Nacadoches, in San Agustine 

“It’s the oldest town,” she said this quite proudly, 

but she left there for Austin when she was just 17

And her Pappy he drank and his temper turned violent 

So Ma’ took the kids and they headed down south

But after they’d grown, Ma’ went back home

Now she lays by his side in the ground

Sweetheart of mine

Won’t you blind me the way that you do

When you left home, you took hold of my mind

Since then, I’ve been thinking of you 

The old women nextdoor, lets us into her house

Where the hat boxes stack up the walls

She shows us a photograph, of back when her hair was black

Back then, this city was a town

Said she bought this house new

On the first day of April

1962, she must have been 25

Now her youngest daughter lives a few blocks away

Doesn’t visit, hasn’t called in a while 

And is a house still a home, if you live there alone?

Cause the kids are all grown and they’ve long gone moved on

Now these half used perfumes and these photographs too

Leave me lost in a memory of you

Sweetheart of mine

Won’t you blind me the way that you do

When you left home, you took hold of my mind

Since than, I’ve been thinking of you 

The old women next door, we ask about her husband

She says he’s been gone, nearly 15 years

That’s his pickup truck there, it still sits in the driveway

As clean as he left it, the last time I ever thought

Sweetheart of mine

Won’t you blind me the way that you do

When you left home, you took hold of my mind

Since than, I’ve been thinking of you