I am from blue jeans, from Coke, and gravel dirt roads.
I am from the Tobacco Barn with open beams and extension cord electricity.
I am from the Dogwood trees, the Pine needles and bark covered in sticky, gluey sap.
I’m from salty air at Pawley’s Island, and tall threads, from Regina Catherine and Jeffrey Boggus, Hill and Steele.
I’m from working days; and quiet nights; and a Poplar tree that allowed the black snakes to get into the attic, one which liked to slither down the window pane in the moonlight, making me quiver.
From Beth’s letters and forbidden drawers.
I am from Freedom church. Floundering self-direction.
I’m from the Piedmont of North Carolina, blackberries, meat loaf, and Funeral Beans.
From the wicker baskets, the musty nylon, and propane burners, with the sunrise chases of hot air balloons.
I am from snapshots on developed film and printed on Kodiak paper, fading on the stairwell walls in Grandmother’s house.
An egret at Pawley's Island, SC - place of 20 years of Steele beach trips.
Shadow poem, modeled from George Ella Lyon's.
Note: My grandmother's sister, Beth threw her love letters down the well in Mississippi. My grandmother fished them out & read them while watering the lawn. Beth's letters remind me of all the stories my grandmother has told me, this one being a favorite.