Hospitality and Judgment (draft 4?)

Women talk in hushed tones near each others’ ears. She’s sweet
as pie, but she don’t have the sense God gave a June bug! I add
one more cup of sugar to sun-brewed sweet tea, stirring with a wooden spoon
while the mothers in the kitchen discuss the impropriety –
the neighbor’s daughter dating a boy
the color of dried tobacco leaves. Bless her heart. Continue reading

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Unattended Funeral (draft 3)

I plead off with myself for not going – I had to work, someone had to work –
all the other young cashiers and baggers asked off from the grocery store.

Everyone went to Boe’s funeral. Continue reading

Aliens and Blueberry Pie

It’s late and the dog just figured out I’m moving tomorrow. She’s nosing around my room, clearly shocked to see the hardwoods now that my drawers and gaping suitcases aren’t covering them. My parents, sister, and I are all in our respective beds with plans to be up early – much earlier, in fact, than I’ve had to get up in all of the past six weeks. It’s hard to believe I actually have been in America for the past six weeks. Continue reading

Snarky Rant on Life

At the risk of sounding incredibly, insanely snarky: there seem to be an over-abundance of kids having kids and/or getting hitched in my town. People younger than me. People I remember as freshmen in high-school. People who have legally been driving a vehicle for less than five years. YOUNG people. Continue reading

South – Jack Gilbert

In the small towns along the river
nothing happens day after long day.
Summer weeks stalled forever,
and long marriages always the same.
Lives with only emergencies, births,
and fishing for excitement. Then a ship
comes out of the mist. Or comes around
the bend carefully one morning
in the rain, past the pines and shrubs.
Arrives on a hot fragrant night,
grandly, all lit up. Gone two days
later, leaving fury in its wake.

A girl in my first creative writing class wrote a poem called Heat that so accurately described this south that I love. And I stumbled across this Gilbert poem, which made me think of hers, for some reason. It captures our essence, I think. Somehow. There’s something intangible that makes the South…the South…and this touches it.  There’s something sad and beautiful in this South I love.