those mornings on the Alabama coast
hot and humid, the air thick enough to swim through
nothing cools the body like Crystal Light lemonade
we made it in bunches, sold it to passersby in tiny, wax-coated cups
sipped it 'til it dyed our lips
the yellow brightness of childhood
my days were littered with cacti, driftwood, and fish skulls
little scraps I picked up on a beach walk
I piled them into colored buckets of orange and blue and green
my collection a treasure-trove
that I kept in the fort we'd made beneath the wharf
the wasps would sometimes build their nests there, to keep us company
their dangerous buzzing like gossip at a country club luncheon
stirring up excitement while poisoning the air
and the neighbors
all with the lawng, lazay suth'un drawl
some who know my grandparents, know my mama and daddy,
or the whole family tree
wave from time to time when they pass our
white-picket-fenced front yard
they are often like
bits of praline pekan cookies, so sweet
the brown sugar melts in your mouth
the salt of the nuts always savory and rich
but with a bit of a bitter aftertaste
when the morsels stay stuck in back molars
to be sucked out with help from the tongue
I didn't notice the aftertaste as a child
my palate hadn't yet evolved
and besides,
I'd pop a piece of Bazooka in my mouth
at every meal's end
I was always moving to the next sensation
today I am far away
but home does stay in the heart
and while I feel estranged from
those days of sandy feet and hands made green from crab-trap-goo
there is no other place
that I will never leave behind
because in doing so I would leave myself as well
as the sun sets over Mobile Bay
and the 'bama moon sucks the daylight from the sky
leaving the night the opaquest of black
those bullfrogs and crickets still speak to me
now, long after my toad-catching years
when my daddy puts on those old Temptations' tunes
I dance with him,
he turns me with a gentlemanly hand
and I sway for the sake of saving every bit
of my southern soul.
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