I am from Little Rock, Arkansas; from Tyson chicken, crooked trees and roaches skittering down the sink.
I am from the “apartment,” maggots in the carpet and snuggling with my parents until dusk sizzles dark.
I am from the magnolia and the poison oak, the weed that throbs and itches in my skin.
I am from gutting fish and going crazy, from Mary Magdalene and Auntie and PaPaw, too.
I am from the giving too much of myself and the never sharing.
From the Jesus sees my secrets and the fairy steals my teeth.
I am from the crisp Catholic cloth, from Protestant thought and black and white truth.
I’m from the dirtiest crumb of Southern culture and the Mexican blood blanched white, grease-slicked okra and pan de dulce sweet and saturating on my tongue.
From the strike hard hammer of my granny, the continuous ache in my granddad’s head.
I am from smoke through the leaves, Dracula clinging to the trees, from IOU Christmas and more money than you.
I am from Arkansas. And hell if I ain’t pissed.
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