The poem describes a man who worked in the Maryland mills and would visit his family on weekends. The speaker remembers the man standing by the whitewashed house as a boy and looking up at his tan face in the tree's shadows. The man is described as an uncle the speaker never really knew but who made an impression. The speaker remembers the man and thinks of him when teaching beside a school where the man could have worked.

1. Beside the House
(for Billy)
He was a man of gloves
and khaki shirts
standing beside the whitewashed house,
crossing the yard of grass
In spring when I was a boy
looking up at him
in the shadows of our old tree,
his face looked tan and taut as bark.
Summer days, the aunts say,
he rode all morning
barely sweating in the cab
of the neighbor’s pickup.
He worked faraway
in the Maryland mills.
I never heard him ask for much
or stop much longer than to clear his throat.
He was the uncle you never knew,
but I remembered till I was a teacher
standing beside the school
where he should have taught.
--Larry D. Giles,
March 13, 2004

2. The Songs my Father Sang
The songs my father sang
he wrapped them in my arms
like night clothes and Jesus wings
warming me till dawn
and the house rang out its cold
and my tears lay down beside the road
till dark night rode along
and he made me his greatest song
sweet as his moon-lit lips,
bright as his purple majesty,
smooth as the chariot that slipped
into our bedroom and carried him home,
and now makes me cry
and sing a song for all men’s grace,
the sounds I can’t stop hearing,
the voices I must never forget.
--Larry D. Giles
President’s Day
February 16, 2004

3. Let Our Children be Gods
Let our children be the gods
who inherit the sun,
Let them ride again
on the edges of clouds,
have dawn and sunset,
the glistening dewdrops
of the silver day
on a blackened star.
Let them laugh
for all they are
with solemn faith
envision what we cannot—
the shade trees of slaves,
an ancient chilly spot
where above all, they pray,
chat with the heavens,
praise what cannot be spoken,
believe what cannot be touched—
the pursed hands of my father,
the steely tears of your sister,
lavender periwinkle on the breasts of Saturday,
and yet some other thing
become
no stranger to the end of the week
no lover to the moon.
--Larry D. Giles,
revised, August 15, 2004