Come to your dirty mamma
I am your violetta
That you look for
In the half light
and am wet and dripping
with the canal camps
muddy

My toes grip
the red root of the
black willow
which call the honey bees
Beeswax seals my lips
and I say nothing of how you come to me
in the quiet
in the chaos

I woke up naked
cool
with only your
new moon murmurs
and fireflies to clothe me

shake me
and jingle
my buckeye and catskins
perhaps I’ll be lucky tomorrow

I’m here with a
low down sorry man
He comes around
when my pockets are full
we eat catfish and
the corn we catch it with
Drink corn whiskey or rye
He likes my one red dress
how it snags on the Formica table
And eats from granny’s pie plates
licking them clean with his tongue
There are bones stacked high on old news print
on the packed earthen floor

I am being scolded again

“You can’t even carry a conversation
but your camelback shack
is filled with verse and broken pottery
and you sing with the uncaged birds that
flock to your veranda
cussing me in your languages
how do you carry on?

You have already disappeared
and it makes some sound
crazy when they say they’ve seen
you walk pass the petrol
stand at night
why not just stay in your swamp?”

I found a clutch from that
black rat snake
I’ve been watching her
and know some who taste the air like that
I’m singing
watching her tongue
Someone is still scolding scolding
talking talking
It sounds like
wood ducks

Somewhere in all this
I hear the Bloodroot’s pitch
calling from the holler
That red dress pales
against it’s medicine in the jug
sitting in the veranda

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