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Mason-Dixon Lines poetry by elizabeth hadaway He mounted to the bar with a pistol in his hand and he sent Judge Massie to the Promised Land: the only mountain ballad my mother ever sang the years that she was raising me on Pop Rocks and Tang, and Grandmother thought secular music miles beneath her notice, so my mind is not one Stith Thompson motif after another, not a green wood thick with noble felons, no Gypsy Davies to seduce, no Barbara Allens, just local Sidna, late in the murder song tradition, coming at you straight out of my mother's kitchen. Ed. note: From Fire Baton, published by the University of Arkansas Press in 2006, and reprinted here with the author's permission.
Southern Cultures – University of North Carolina Press
Published: Sep 17, 2007
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