Kentucky Moon

there are nights in kentucky
when the woods are too deep
and the tree tops scrape the moon,
sad harbinger tip toeing over the mountains

granny always warned us
between tokes taken from her corn cob pipe
about dangers that lurk in the darkness
of hills and hollows on nights like this:

keep ye heads low, children
stay ye the straight and narrow, babies
say ye prayers, little ones
cross yeself when ye goned astray, sweet ones

she’d guide us into piles each evening
like dead fallen leaves in october
before starting about the space
all her manners of sunset fixing:

nine broom straws in the fire, babies
fresh woodruff for the winders, sweet ones
dried basil for the door, lovelies
then ye drink yer milk and chamomile, dears

in front of her unbearably hot fireplace
she’d speak of shadrach between spits of tobacco
before crossing the cabin and praying
all of us into an uneasy sleep:

i smoor this fire this night, children
as the son of mary might, babies
the compassin’ of god be on it, sweet ones
the compassin’ of god on all the house, angels

she’d pluck away on her old mandolin
on nights when the howling got too bad
and the praying wouldn’t stifle our fear
stopping only if the screams neared the cabin:

keep yer eyes closed, sugars
let granny’s music fill yer ears, babies
let the haints pass us by, little ones
the holy ghost is fornenst us, loves

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
safe and sound in hindman
late at night when the moon is heavy
heaving herself over appalachia
these are the times i hear the howling
echoing down from the hills and hollows:

make sure the basil is tight
is there enough woodruff for the night
then you take your milk and chamomile
let the dark hours peacefully pass
along with the kentucky moon, babies

Time

there once was a time
when you rode on me
boy upon boy’s back
down the bourbon street
my daddy has said
there will come a time
when god sends lightning
right down the old rue
but we, you and i
know nothing of this
we are enraptured
with the promises
she has always held
for people like us

Where the Fuck do I Live, or An Ode to Kentucky

there are worse words
to carve into a chest:
fagot nigger spic
chink cunt kike
but three lettered words
like fed fit nice

somethings remain unchanged
like lynching standards
of using rope in backwood
hollers and cemeteries
but only for tradition’s sake

but kentucky you should know
the old adage remains the same:
give ‘em enough rope and, well,
you know the rest

Katrina

there is a flickering light that glows
awakening me to the rising waters
i dared to brave so you needn’t stay
our conversation is brief and broken
with static interference and death

wading through my living room
hoisting my regrets up the steps
within the confined memories
of this attic-turned-crawlspace
i rummage through grainy moments of memories
recorded on reels only because
we appreciated the nostalgia

do you feel us plundering sand castles
chasing sea gulls and crashing nakedly
through waters as if neptune answered to us?

the dancing seinna shades
reflect on the rising waters
flickering their golden hues
going dark before drowning

floating on my back just as
my grandpa had taught me
to do in times of trouble
cussing, just as he would do

nose to ceiling i find clarity:
tomorrow, some old lady
may stumble upon me
while wading to a copter

but tonight, my head roars
like the waters rising
through the levee
as i ponder my last questions:
will they know, katrina,
will you know, katrina,
you were everything to me?

Summer

we barely had a chance to know you
hitting snooze, sleeping in until june
hiding out among july’s tall grasses
playing peek-a-boo between august sunsets
your grand entrance went beyond being
fashionably late. more like a grand finale

Wasp

aimlessly bumbling
this clumsy helicopter
fills the room with fear

Spice

open sesame!
cavernous cupboard
i command thee to reveal
thy trove of annual treasures
perennial genies uncorked
to work wishes unto
our fruits of the season
when fall and winter come calling
o! pleasures of the orient,
designed but to please
the senses of american seasons

Southern Superstition

katydid, katydid
alight in my room
screaming songs
of impending doom

an omen, a sign
of guests sure to come
when all falls apart
and all comes undone

katydid, katydid
creature of night
your songs fill the air
with terror and fright

katydid, katydid
why did she have to go
and you fill her place
with eternal woe

Red-Tailed

the summer the hawks came
and filled the air with their shrill squeals
was the summer i screamed
but was drowned out by
their quiveringly hoarse screeching,
blotted out in their wingspan shadows

the winter the red berries broke through the snow
was the winter i tried to hide away
in the hallow enclaves of the snowdrifts
only to be spotted by you,
a dark thing among the bespeckled reds
found out by my tale-tell tracks

the spring the rains came
i nearly swallowed them whole,
mouth gaping for salvation with a head turned up
searching for a ray – some small sliver of light
breaking through an otherwise ominous horizon
in which anvils hung low and yelled down

in the fall i feel hopelessly
losing myself in the leaves of last season
covering the bruised injury and pain
in the bandages of my last sorrow
i peered out seeing nothing
a void of hypertension and bewilderment
in which all but death was imminent

then came the snow-touched berries
the shrill calls of the red-tailed flyers
the demands of clouds hanging low and dark
fierce like hands
but lo! the sight of a slow moving satellite
i pinned my hopes on that word i could not spell
the one that cost me the competition and dreams
accomplishments and achievements
and as it edged its way out of view
i hitched on and planned my escape
from the world below, slowly moving in circles

Fading

i like to watch as old friends fade
my suhottie, just pulling off
into the sunset, easing out
cowgirl style
west to california
bellies full of indian goodness,
hearts full of memories,
and mouths aching with catching up

i like to watch old friends fade
robin making her way
from my third story floor
in pouring rain, rushing
to get into her car and drive
back to louisville,
bellies full of bourbon,
hearts full of aching,
and mouths tired from talking

i like to watch old friends fade
annie disappearing into the
mid-western crowds for an
east coast bound flight
bellies full of ulcers,
hearts full of good deeds
and mouths sore with complaining
about the legacy of a presidency

i like to watch old mothers fade:
a momma’s face growing dim
in the porch light as the uhaul
fades out of sight
into the dark night en route
to cincinnati,
bellies full of butterflies
hearts full of hopes
and mouths full of prayers