unsilenced ties

blue-blooded as the veins in my arms;
jazz as the pulse tapping in my neck;
Southern as the sweet tea I don't drink,
this land, this place is in me.

tall as the cornstalks in mid-season
growing along the road;
fair as the cotton pluming
from bushes yet to be harvested;
kind as the people who ask
after your day, but they don't know you,
this land, this place is in me.

red clay farmers in the foothills
of southern appalachia,
living in the middle of a small town;
fresh water planters and plantation dwellers
along the coast and progressing north by west,
these people, these lands are in me.

when I have tired of the heat
and the feel of sweat on my brow,
I have gone elsewhere:
but the land stays with me,
as it is who I truly am.
I find myself putting a conch shell
to my ear: the air
breathing like the sea
in the echoes of its chambers.
I find myself taking walks
on windy days, just to hear
the breeze pass through
the arching pines, whispering
that the sound will always be.
these sounds, these comforts are in me.