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My South


                                      By Doris Gabel Welch

My South is
Hot
Humid
Sultry
Just like its women.

My South is
Crystal clear
Beads of condensation
Sliding down a tall glass
Of sweet iced tea
Adorned by a sprig of mint
And a slice of lemon.
It is slowly sipped
On a front porch
Framed by Jackson vine
While one gently
Rocks or swings.

My South is antebellum
Mansions
Sharecropper shacks
With rusty tin roofs
Which match perfectly
The red clay earth
That nourishes
Stalks of white cotton
Mirroring the clouds above.

My South is
Sagging gray weathered barns
With faded painted roofs
That whisper
Morton Salt or
See Rock City.

My South is
Gentle words
Darlin’
Honey
Yes sir and No M’am
And Y’all come back, y’hr?

My South is
The smell of honeysuckle
Magnolia blossoms
Chicken or ham
Frying in a black iron skillet.

My South is
The sting of okra
The softness of peach fuzz
Green velvet moss
The nuzzle of a horse
Or a naked baby’s bottom.
It is the shock
Of a cold creek
Born of deep underwater spring
It is the slippery, slimy salamander
Wriggling through your fingers.

My South is
The lost tribes of
Choctaw
Creek
And Cherokee.
Names they left behind
Tuscaloosa
Cahaba
Sipsy
Sylacauga
And Oneonta.

In my South
A statue of a Confederate soldier
Stands in every town square
That boasts a courthouse.

My South is in
The Heart of Dixie
My South is

Alabama.

related tags

RiverVue,
Urban,
Mountain,
Coastal,
River,
Alabama,
Wayfaring,
Manner,
Discourse,
Lore,

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