by Martha Lyons It’s a Sunday afternoon And I’m watching To Kill a Mockingbird again. I’ve read the book and Seen the movie I don’t know how many times. It takes me home To a small southern town, Deep in summer. The air hot and humid, Heavy with the sweet scent of honeysuckle. Children can play outside In the mysterious summer night. Inside, the windows are open and Curtains sway gently, Blown by a lazy fan. Summer sadness Is not lost on a child, who dreams Of popsicles and bike rides, And playing marbles in the dust Under an old maple tree. Martha Lyons was born and raised in Winnsboro, Louisiana, and received her BA in English from the University of Louisiana at Monroe. She was halfway through a master’s degree in literature when her husband (now ex) took her away to Orange County, California. She took up writing again through classes at a junior college there and "was lucky enough to have Michelle Mitchell-Foust as my professor, and she gave me the courage to write," says Martha. Poems like this one and "Southern Funeral," also published in our "Poetry" section, help her stay in touch with her Southern roots and feel closer to home.