Be Purple

Someone who didn’t know Wiley

could figure out who he was

by the way he favored his people.

Why you’re the spitting image of your Grandpap.

Lord, you’re all growed up!

He sat on the porch swing

sipping spring water handed to him

in a jelly jar with flowers,

dark shades of purple and blue. 

He declined the customary offer of food,

not wanting to be any trouble,

though pork chops, collard greens, mashed potatoes, 

sliced tomatoes, salted cucumbers, and cornbread

sounded awful good.

He just went ahead and popped the question. 

Myrtle was flabbergasted.

Asked to be a weekly host for an hour on WMMT

was not what she was expecting,

but Wiley liked to include the community.

Why I don’t know nothing about no radio, she objected.

Neither do we, Wiley laughed.

With another convert to help spread 

music and the word,

Wiley walked away carrying a big poke

of tomatoes and squash from her garden. 

Myrtle waved, calling after him, Be careful,

heard all his life on departure

in the mountain dialect

that, as a child,

he thought people were saying, Be purple.

He drove off, astonished 

about the power of sound.

Once the church bell rings

or WMMT is switched on,

vibration connects the whole community

like an aerial view of Whitesburg—

as though God is listening.




-Hilda Downer

from Wiley's Last Resort. Hickory:  Redhawk Publications, 2022.