cocoon

 
from the backseat of the oldsmobile
as it heads down
the old wetumpka highway
passing cotton fields long past picking
for a moment
a frantic infant is soothed
by a sister’s song simple and sweet
like an angel whispering love
into a hallow cocoon
the old pecan trees
under the talapoosa bridge
with their gnarled branches
and battered gray trunks
line up in dismal procession
like troops of rebel soldiers
resigned to surrender
what they fought so hard to defend
a personal wounding
cultural and grave
to play over and over
for generations to come
this old wetumpka highway
is the last stretch
of the asphalt ribbon on the long
trip home from gadsden to montgomery
where this family of discontents will
head back inside that yellow framed house
near the grave yard on highland avenue
that holds so many secrets
that house where
for safety’s sake
i learned to lie
a pecan tree in the side yard
dripping with spanish moss
harbors families of squirrels
defensive and afraid
like all of us
midst the crescendo of screaming baby
there’s the sister with an overbite
the width of her thumb
my father in his air force blues
the sister he calls sad sack
my mother with her arsenal on hand
belts, fly swatters, switches
and her rigid, unforgiving nature
my father calls her his squaw
and me he calls buddy
he may be the military man
but she’s the commanding officer
she’s like pittsburgh in winter
when you’re poor
or furnace creek in july
when you’re just you

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