Southern Legitimacy Statement: I love magnolia trees and the scent of pine. My favorite aunt is name is Nellie Bee. I made mud pies in red dirt. I was born in Grove Hill and it holds priceless memories. I am a female named Jimmie. I’ve lived in Alabama, Chicago, Anchorage and Arizona. My southern roots are the very essence of who I am to this very day. Deep down, I am still that little freckled face redhead kid, running barefoot on my grandparent’s land spinning around until I was dizzy and breathless.
Uptown
Six city blocks
Four hundred lives
83 cultures one high rise
Eyes filled with pain
No A game
On the B train
Ethiopian grocery stores
Selling Indian spices
Gang graffiti
Baked ziti
Laundromats and bars
Slumlords thrive
Crowded busses
The daily grind
Cities never even nap
Forget sleep
The beat goes on
Sonny and Cher were
Absolutely correct
Paradise was paved
Concrete is so unwelcoming
Flowers can’t grow
The Sun Times
The hateful crimes
Luckily the sun shines
Thank God for the Lake
Vast and reassuring
If I ever get out of this place…
Perfecting Chaos
She left the jalopy running loudly
Sputtering oil and dark smoke
As she ran back into the mausoleum of a house
Hurriedly seeking her silver cigarette case
Her laughter pierces the night sky
Tonight she will waltz with her demons
Serenaded by cryptic ballads in her head
Joyful confusion, temporary conviction
Gentlemen callers awaiting her wrinkled hand
They will whisk her across the floor
She will remember to be coy in a Bette Davis
Kind of way, she peers into a mirror gazing
At a strange reflection and she screams
Silently, for it is her soul in denial
No longer the belle of the ball
Daddy’s picture shouts from the wall
Mother ghostly presence screams,
“Who’s the prettiest of them all?”
Contrary to the fairy tales told
Pretty girls do grow old
Still there will be one last Mardi Gras
One last night of debauchery before the velvet curtain falls
She makes it back to the car
Carefully places a smoke between her red lips
She disappears into the February moonlight
After all the jalopy still runs
The Ultimate Ascension
It is the least of imaginings most deserving of our attention
The storms beneath skin no one is mentioning
Place your hurt upon this page
Begin the dissipation of rage
Romance is an overrated inflated lie
Love is not guaranteed yet we must try
It is not a novel with lovers kissing tenderly
Sailing on a river with a perfect honeybee in sight
Designer clouds whispering everything’s alright
Love is being there when times are tough
It is going the distance when life is rough
Not walking away when the option is there
Much more serious than fingers in your hair
Love overcomes fears, tears and the golden years
It lasts when lust is gone when the quintessential honeymoon is over
Love, more realistic than that elusive four leafed clover
The ultimate ascension deserving of our attention
