Trace Road
The old truck bumped and I now envy my dad knowing how to fix it up. How to turn the dials and crawl under,
Acoustic Shadows
There were no sounds when the first 10,000 men died Or when 20,000 men departed this life
My Mississippi
Mud womb, fossil, mother-speak, first breath, bread, breadth of horizon— catch-all for floods and storms
Tobacco Farm
Seven years old on a dried up tobacco farm. I am running through rows of hard-packed sod, no more tobacco to grow
The Houston Place
How different now the pasture, nurturing scrub pines, sweet gums, blackjacks the livestock long gone. But Houston's horse
Carolina Lover
Livening together in the blueberry house’s multiform sun, leaf shadows scattered on the bed, two records playing at once
Reflection
Grandmother kneels over the washing board at Miss Parsons, later piecing each cloth on the line, one to the other attaching them without flaw,