A SOUTHERN LULLABY

Sweet serene, plush green
Slow movin’, slow speak’n
“Ya’ll ever been?”

Overlook the trailers,
cinder block stops,
houses with dust crops,
and pay attention to the
tranquility of the Tennessee,
lightly grabbing the edge of
the river bank.

Down home cookin’—
Soup beans, collard greens, mashed taters, punkin’ pie.
Grandma in her yellow-checkered apron
tellin’ stories ‘bout the young.
Grandpa on the front porch with the boys
smokin’ his pipe with his yellow-stained hands,
tellin’ stories ‘bout the War and talkin’ sports.

Never mind the mayhem inside our city limit—
we are surrounded by the setting sun,
beaming through the trees,
blanketing the grass with a deep orange haze.
All the chores are done.

The humming of the cicadas begins
and darkness is on the rise.
The summer breeze begins to blow
as Grandma and Grandpa close their eyes.

(MAY, 2005)