Place

  I stare at the honey-colored wood floors beneath my feet. My eyes travel up to the walls, the painted walls of a pleasing forest green. I didn’t paint these walls. I walk outdoors, bundled up in layers of clothing, making sure to wear gloves and a hat. The gray...

Southern Spring

The trees are already dressed in early spring shades of green. The skies are a clear, bright blue, the sun is shining golden. The weather is perfect; warm but not too warm, with the brush of gentle breezes. Spring is awake and alive in mid-April in the deep...

Going Home (poem)

Going Home Sweetness drips, roosts on the edge of the blade, and my feet aren’t hurt. Finding a multitude at any given moment, I am undone, orbiting on an imaginary hammock, swinging and creating my own breeze.  I gaze up to see the v-shaped geese, flying to the same...

When Home

When Home     It isn’t simply the camellias or dogwoods that draw me home but a string that pulls, pushes Appalachia aside and drags me under the Chattahoochee with the catfish.   I resurface in the creek down the street, catch my breath on a blanket of pine...

Going Home (a poem)

Going Home Sweetness drips, roosts on the edge of the blade, and my feet aren’t hurt. Finding a multitude at any given moment, I am undone, orbiting on an imaginary hammock, swinging and creating my own breeze.  I gaze up to see the v-shaped geese, flying to the same...

Speckled Gold, #509-533

Speckled gold is the autumn landscape; speckled gold with dots of brown, shades of crimson, rust, and fading sienna. On lanes with rust-colored leaves, I notice the waning colors, and flaky papery leaves falling brown to the ground. Pumpkins aren’t bountiful...

Drifting Camellia

A plane carries me hundreds of miles, flying faster than a bird, to my home. I had to fly to get there, nearly a thousand miles away. When I walk off the plane and into the airport, I hear the voices. It’s the southern accent I grew up listening to, like a sweet...