Saturday, July 06, 2013

Faved!: Anna Journey's Mississippi: Origin

My parents come from a place where all the houses stop
at one story

for the heat. Where every porch--front
and back--simmers in black screens that sieve 

mosquitoes from our blood. Where everyone knows 
there's only one kind of tea: 

served sweet. The first time my father 
introduced my mother to his parents, 

his mother made my mother change 
the bed sheets in the guest room. She'd believed it

a gesture of intimacy. My grandmother
saved lavender hotel soaps and lotions 

to wrap and mail as gifts at Christmas. My grandfather
once shot the head off a rattlesnake 

in the gravel driveway of the house he built 
in Greenwood. He gave the dry rattle to my mother

the same week I was born, saying, Why don't you
make something out of it.

0 poetic mutterings: