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...

Camellias Come Home

When I finally arrive, I hear the voices, the ones I grew up listening to: the southern accent is a sweet, familiar sound to homesick ears. I used to talk that way, but now the accent only emerges when I’m in the south or speaking with another person with a...

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...