Saturday at dawn,
down to the farmers market
by the old courthouse,
city center,
in a square we all
once called
“cheapside”
it was the former
site of another
market
named by white
landowners
to advertise the
affordability
of strong
and well bred
human stock.
Now the name
is Tandy Park.
I’ve come here
to sell the wooden bowls
I’ve cobbled in my shop
and to sing and play
guitar.
If you correct me
when I call it such
and say,
“oh you mean cheapside”
I will calm my rage
and explain
Henry Tandy,
born a “slave”,
close to here,
in Estill county,
became,
not only
the finest
stonemason
Kentucky ever saw,
but also the owner
of the construction company
who created this fine
example of
architecture
richardsonian
romananesque,
our old courthouse
of local limestone,
intricate with gargoyles
and frills of fleur de lis,
scrolls of icanthus leaves,
detail after detail
every soffit,
every frieze,
carved exquisitely,
capped recently
with a new copper roof.
Once as a kid my dad
had reason to inspect
the air conditioners
in the attic, and so we
scampered up the
access ladder
to emerge into the
cúpula,
it was the best view
I have seen of this city,
on a Saturday morning
forty years before,
then I was yet to know,
gazing from the perch
above the square,
had no idea,
that a black man
risen up from heinous
bondage, had
placed in mortar,
less than thirty years
after the civil war,
the stone rail
on which we
confidently leaned,
or even that the name
“cheapside”
was meant to demean.
And so as the scents of
farm raised
sausages
and fresh cut
flowers and coffee
fill the square,
I arrive with the farmers
already here,
vegetables arranged
like little dolls
colorful and plump
loaves of bread baked
the night before
young tomato plants
waiting for a side yard
garden,
a man
still sleeping
on the steps.
I fetch my wares
onto my stand,
a kiosk in the sun,
buy a bouquet
of wild flowers
to place in some vases
I have made.
Ready now,
for market day.
I take out my harmonica,
and start to play,
an old spiritual
“Wade in the Water”.
A child comes over
in a dirty sundress
and picks up one of
my bowls,
I smile between notes
and know,
someday to greatness
this little girl will grow.
