Micropoetry Monday: Our Beautiful South


The geometric sharpness
above the Mason-Dixon line,
softened like charcoal, dreamlike,
as I delved into the Deep South—
a peach going back to pit.

Her husband was a man
of the camo cloth.
Faith was her name,
but Hope was the daughter
she’d given birth to
when she got saved by Grace.

Magnolia blooms are virginal Southern belles-
a pearlescent setting in a ring of fine patina,
like Scarlett O’Hara’s dress with tasseled lapels.

Utah had opened her eyes,
but back in the South,
eyes closed,
she dusted off her old testimony.
Twas like coming home
after a long time away.

Miss Ruby Lee was
a dyed-in-the-seersucker,
red State lady,
serving fried chicken,
hominy grits,
& nanner puddin’–
all on Wedgwood blue.

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