The South Got Something To Say

Not an ounce of your body’s bloodis yours alone, yet you darecarry it across state lines,knowing what happens to anyone caughtwith that kind of contraband.You might think you have no accent,                                  but open your mouth& I’m all they hear. Not a word you saybelongs to you.                                  A Cadillac’s trunk,an empty pantry, dumpster, grave:how is the shape of your mouth any different? 

Memory, Flooding Back

The river’s rise out of itself beganin the west, the lowest partof the city. Its first breach of the bank:subtle, just a thin filmof water over the land, like a handcoaxes a child to sleep. Within hours,it reached our homes. When the waterseeped through the window, I feltso confused. How like a child to thinkthe house had started to cry.