.................................
Cottonwood Song
.................................

I was forged
in a foundry
of wildflowers
and bluejays,
green leaves
and yellow suns,
rose hips
and honeysuckle.
My limbs,
hardened butter
born of
Appalachian goats;
my teeth,
petals of
dogwood trees;
my hair,
spun from
cedar bark
and mud-red clay;
my eyes:
one a rainwater
stream over
thousand year old
dead-rock sealife,
the other
a blade of grass
to whistle
(attempt)
a dry-rattle-squeal
to the wind.
My thoughts,
the laughter
of children
in hay lofts;
my fingers,
piano keys
found free of wire
in an old hat
in some back-woods
junk (treasure?) store.
And in my soul,
the strands of Dixie
hardened to a banjo
and the strains
of gospel-soft grace
mingle, clumped
"nearer my God, to thee"
over my grandfather's
flag-draped coffin.
Daddy's hands
cutting through
stark blacks/whites
teaching me grays -
choosing
the songs of
the lilies
in all of their
infamous fields.
Look away, look away
hound-dogs and hairpins
and pound cake
on a hot
greasy afternoon.
My watermelon-seed pupils
shoot feelers
into my brain,
rooting me
to my core,
my cotton balled heart.
This is my home.

.................................
Alicia A. Curtis
.................................

 
Copyright © Alicia A. Curtis
April 1999

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Copyright © 1999 A Small Garlic Press. All rights reserved.
Created 1998/4/29. Updated last on 2000/7/17.