I grew up in Georgia.

I grew up in Geor­gia, where
The ground bleeds crim­son clay
Stain­ing knees and el­bows of
Those who tromp in it

Geor­gia, where
My moth­er’s sim­ple drapes could hard­ly
Hide the sum­mer sun
Where win­dowsills are grave­yards for
Flies and wasps and spi­ders

Geor­gia, where
June bugs flew like missles
To­wards our un­sus­pect­ing heads, and
Died as am­mu­ni­tion when our
Wars were waged with them

Geor­gia, where
This­tles slid like splin­ters
Into lit­tle feet and hands
Where bees and snakes and creepy things
Taught me to be ner­vous

Geor­gia cut me loose
Raised me from her rud­dy ground
Grass-stained, scrawny, near-sight­ed
But full of heart and not afraid of bruis­ing