I’m telling you the plain truth you would think
a town with this many poor folks peeling potatoes was unhappy
but getting off the sun bus my mama was waiting there
with the other mamas thick piece of maple at her hip
for any carolina dog between here and where she’s covered my room
with a thousand plastic stars we are citizens of their upstairs laughter
& their Tupperware clear tears
carried to two jobs cleaning office buildings four nights a week
my house like everyone’s had a table
to sit down some troubles
when the emptiness chose us
we dumped out lonely in the river like bad sugar wine
or held it in a wicker basket
with the fish who like us learn to embrace in their deaths
you would think we all just wanted to kneel over in the dirt
of our slap board houses but we greased our legs & went out into our yards
& made them hot pink purple & beautiful a ceremony of canna
then scrubbed our houses like God was coming to get a plate
you would think we didn’t have time to plant flowers
and flour biscuits
but every thumb here has had dough under its nail
& is priest green
We still gather near flames
because that all grandmothers had you would think
we couldn’t kill a thing but the deer knew to run
so did the squirrels
you would think we made the reddest devil horns
when we hear the Lord’s name out loud
