Freezing air, thick with dew
and the deep south.
Only tourists question that
soaked feeling of morning.
The moldy canvas
glows around me --
My civil war dawn.

Rough, wool blankets, gray --
the color of Dixie,
wrapped around my shivering
body. My mother's
soft form is beside me,
her feet draw
cold from my own.

The five o'clock train
screams beside our backs
leaving gray
blood in its wake.
Sand and wild flowers
still sleep
around me.

I slept forty days and nights,
the flood has stopped.
Now I must defend my land.
I roll over and burrow
into the blanket
and pretend I don't know
the place that I've come to.

04/20/2004

Author's Note: Mississippi - " - from Fr., from Algonquian, lit. "big river."

Posted on 03/13/2007
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