I am from the low south
Where the accent isn’t Atlanta pretty
And the red mud is impossible to remove
Where the creeks are more like rivers
And our believes are deep and set
I’m from a grandmother whom I loved
And often hated
For the truth she could see in me
I’m from a mother who gave and gave
Until I ran away from the giving
I am from a father that didn’t stay for the ending
Hardly showed up for the start
And my resentment is a part of me
Like his eyes and his damned double crown
I am from the south
And it never leaves me
no matter how often I leave it
cornbread and buttermilk, cracklins galore
turnip greens and black eyed peas
these are the foods that sustained me
while I weaned myself to coffee and bagels
biscuits and gravy are still in my mind
I am from the south