Tagged: south

when the sun sets at

when the sun sets at
four thirty-seven in the
afternoon, there is

no escaping the temperature
of loss, longing for the south


three days before heading

three days before heading
home, a ball of nerves
tumbles in the chest,
jostled and batted around
like the best
game of post-election
pinball ever played,
where the score is
already in the trillions,
you’re playing right
into enemy territory,
and all the flashing
lights, bells and noise-
makers seem to only make
the ball move faster –
keeping up is essentially
adding so many
zeroes and counting on
that slingshot save

either everything

either everything
matters, or none of it matters –
you asked me if i

can smell the pine from here, i’m
already back home with you

leaning in ever

leaning in ever
so slightly over the pool
of cicada songs,

a ripple in the reflection,
an asynchronization

when the forecast hits

when the forecast hits
possibly snow,
you and i always
return to the Great Blizzard
of Ninety-Three
, how
we made do with what we had –
two digging shovels with the
pointed ends, some southern
summer gardening
gloves, and
sinks and tubs stopped
up with hot water
for the tender
soaking in between

maybe it’s because

maybe it’s because
a southern transplant, newly
city girl should know
a little something
about trucks and
winches, wraparound
porches and rocking
chairs, and the holy trinity
of cajun cooking –
when you said
four-wheel drive,
i leaned in
with etiquette
but not too much

snow in Atlanta