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...

Within Reach

It happened in the Wal-Mart parking lot. My friend said it happened to her when she visited the beach after a long absence. I was expecting it to happen at the beach too. But for me, it was when I stepped out of the Wal-Mart in my hometown. All of a sudden it hit me,...

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...