
SOUTHERN BELLE BY NAILAH MATHEWS
to see you on
your wraparound porch
teacup under your
feet while you rock
on the swing
backinforth
in the sharp
neon heat.
grandbabies dozing on the
shirt of a cousin and
absinth
swishin his tail
hellbent on the
ball of yarn you knit
into sacheta for
the young to make their dreams sweet like
a lump of funnel cake on the
tongue,
sweet like
tea in the pitcher sweatin
cold soft beads in the heat,
this one is for
tallulah, plum's secondborn, purple
haired,
still fat.
knees deep in the garden, i pick lavender, the
chamomile, peach pit
and
clove;
hawthorn, rowan,
you weave the bundle together
from string dyed with
fruit and fat and bone,
a key of mine, like
a lock of your hair,
the bundles we made when we were wived.
i remember
carrying the twins and
the son who surprised us
new grown and
off the spyre
where he will count
between the stars
trip and fool the gods
like his big sisters
then us before —
we were wicked in our younger days.