[Ashley Bowen]

Revision

Crossroads

Dear Lord, I’d seen you make this world a coffin
so cramped my ribs could never catch their breath,
and how you’d framed it up too snug for me
to fit beside Eternity’s wide hips,
and how my sinning’s made my soul so heavy
even angels wince beneath its weight,
and how the Sabbath’s just another day
of suffering when a mister’s field needs sowing.

So when you ask me why my knees were dark
with crossroad dust, I’ll say the devil turned
my voice into a plate and people played
it on their gramophones. I got a dollar
a night in juke joint gin. I drove a Hudson
right off the dealer’s lot. The sermons say
I’ll suffer, Lord. But shoot. I’ll be damned
if suffering ain’t better in a brand-new suit.



Original
Robert Johnson

“In the Jim Crow South, God’s promise of eternal reward seemed little solace to some in their harsh day-to-day lives as sharecroppers. Why wouldn’t Robert Johnson have traded his soul at the crossroads for a chance for something better?”
--Darrin Whitten, Blues Historian, author of The Last Fair Deal Gone Down

Dear Lord, I’d seen you make this world a coffin
so cramped my ribs could never catch their breath,
and how you’d framed its sides too small for me
to fit beside Eternity’s wide hips,
and how my sin had made my soul so heavy
that even angels would wince beneath its weight,
and how the Sabbath’s just another day
of suffering when a Mister’s field needs sowing.

So when you ask me why my knees were deep
in crossroads dust, I’ll say the devil put
my voice onto a plate and people played
it on their gramophone. Now people know
me in the jukes. I’ll suffer, Lord, but shoot,
don’t suffering feel better in a brand-new suit?