“ornaments for great-granddaughters”

my beloved yankee,

how can you hate the south?

after trying wild honeysuckle and breathing in maturing magnolias? warm spring days, rolling thunderstorms at night, sidewalks still wet the next morning. 

we have ladies with big hair, bigger weddings, inviting half the town to watch them say i love you, i do, i'll always love you. 

neighbors’ hushed gossiping, like friction between dried leaves, small talk in line at the grocery store, asking if they like that brand of bug spray.

a cacophony of cicadas at night, whippoorwills and chick-a-dee-dee-dees, lullabies of violently croaking bullfrogs.

i like faded churches on single lane roads, alight with kerosene love.

i like red crosses and soup kitchens, storm shelters and booster drives, i forgot to thank her for the casserole when my aunt died.

i like peach cobbler, chess pie, country fried steak, loads of butter and eggs and flour and sugar, 

tea so sweet your mouth puckers, salty boiled peanuts sold from the side of the road, only $1.50 and you get free directions to the waterfall.

i even like the people who hunt, i do. especially the ones who use all of the animal, who thank the deer for passing quickly and for gifting them a glorious feast, the ones who give antlers to their dogs.

i like old women with hair so white it's blue, a smoker's rasp, metallic lipstick and starched blouses, patent leather shoes and big red pocketbooks. 

i like driving through marshes and fields, cow pastures and blue ridges, creeks falling to forests growing to gardens.

i like square dancing, and slow dancing even more, and lit-up raves tucked in the corners of empty downtowns filled with everyone that looks like you. 

i like bluegrass and blues, drumlines before football games, jazz in the french quarter, zydeco in acadiana, yes even country, i like my nana singing patsy cline on the porch. 

i like slow guitar and crooning melodies of heartbreak and first love, of missing mom and hating dad. 

i like faded red trucks, low to the ground with unimpressive engines, i like train tracks braided with weeds. 

i like mardi gras, flashing beads in smoky air, feathered up floats, stereos turned loud. 

i like the hundreds of torn-up peachtree streets and dozens of martin luther king jr. boulevards. 

i like drag queens in sunday best, the same florals my grandmother likes, i like straw hats and creased-up boots, i like paper fans exchanged from hand to hand. 

i like hearing y’all stay safe now, how everyone is honey and baby and sweetheart, even if you've never met.