Having Just Met
Between them, a myriad of broken shells— pecans, a bowl of them to be exact. His hands,
William Faulkner's Rocking Chair
oxford a southern college town quiet antebellum square except on football weekends
Southern Hospitality
by Sandra Bounds Mississippi is the hospitality state where folks are warm as Spring’s genial sun
1947-1969
by Dani Sandal The Boy and I picnicked on my father's grave one fall day. Father passed in a coal mine. When he was alive, I'd stomped atop his red-dirt grave and not even known it
Front Porch
by Patricia Neely-Dorsey (Hospitality Headquarters) Just the spot For taking in a cool breeze And watching the world go by
Ode to the Black-eyed Pea
by Sandra Bounds Kudos to the Black-eyed Pea! Unlike the tomato, this legume is not nor ever has been a fruit. This delicious and healthful vegetable graces every table of Mississippi, and its nutty flavor pleases the palate as it provides energy for farmers who toil in their fields helping to feed and clothe the world
A Little Piece of Home
by Sandra Bounds September Now in the Mississippi Delta. The dazzling whiteness of cotton
Mississippi Speaks
by Sandra Bounds Mississippi is the voice of the Deep South. Softly and sensuously, she speaks with Southern drawl.
Southern Living
by Melva Holliman Magnolia memories and Deep South dreams, Home is tattooed on my soul and racing through my veins.
Ode to Dug
Oxford, Mississippi by Dante Di Stefano I could die there at the Chevron Food Mart, be reborn at the Kangaroo Express, and die again at the Oxford Gas Mart. I could die eating chicken on a stick, make art from clogged arteries, and express the perfect poem in the shape of thick sweet potato fries. I could die between the aisles of beef jerky and Valvoline. When I die, the guy behind the counter has got to be named Dug, spelled D-U-G, and he’s got to smile, so as to counter the somberness of all mortality. Dug, let my life be like catfish deep fried: crisp, good, dashed with hot sauce before I die. Dante Di Stefano currently works as a high School English teacher in his hometown of Binghamton, New York. His work has appeared most recently in Poetry, Quarter After Eight, and The Hollins Critic, and he says this poem is part of a collection that connects his travels in the South and the great people he's met.
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