Poem of the Day
So I realized I’ve mentioned being a poet, but other than that haiku a few posts ago, I haven’t really given you any poetry. But I’ll begin sharing, starting today. This one is not directly about wine but rather the need for thing you don’t have. And wine does make an appearance.
Delta Flight 539 Departs in Five Minutes
I crave my mama’s potato salad,
but a handful of salty peanuts must
suffice. I sit in this reprocessed air
and question what happens tomorrow
when wheels release and hit southern soil.
Because sometimes the odor of decay
can be masked by magnolias and I
forget what it is like to suffocate.
I’m caught between fields
of tomatoes and black-eyed peas,
zinnias swelling in an old bathtub,
a roadside stand just past D’Lo
that pushes satsumas and peach ice cream,
while old ladies still wear mink in spring,
and oversized Rams flex their muscles
as the drivers yowl and catcall,
in echo of rebel yells.
I search for revelation, but I’d settle
for a new pair of knee-high boots,
a ten-dollar bottle of Big House Red,
my tenth-grade crush to kiss goodnight,
or at least a better way to say this.
*This one was actually published in the first issue of Ink Pot…in print and online. I was going to include the link, but the magazine seems to have ended its run.
December 6th, 2006 at 10:17 pm
Your poems about home have me drinking in that rich, thick air drenched in so much history. I love the mental Welty-esque images you invoke for me.