"Southern" is something
movie actors cannot replicate-
especially not
that kid who played Jem
in To Kill a Mockingbird,
but I can laugh and love
Miss Scarlett's humid vowels
because Ms. Margaret, her heart
and voice, knew well the heat
of a real Atlanta barbecue.
Some leave and lose the taste
of home, the muscle memory
of dropped r and gerund,
spit out the earth-salted metaphor,
the parable in one word.
I savor sweet the rich
brown sugar glaze of Faulkner
and O'Connor, save bittersweet
drippings of sorghum wisdom
and rich pork fat humor.
The mother's milk of sound stains
like tobacco: lips, tongue, lungs, and teeth.
Bleach it linen yellow like bones
in the sun, or tuck it
deep in the pocket of a cheek.
Posted by Meagan M. on July 15, 2008
Tags: Uncategorized


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