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Amy
I have satAnd I have lainAnd I have wallowedAnd I have stretched Upon this couchOn this porchWhere I have heard children shriek on the other side of the fenceAnd sprinklers hiss and spit like snakesAnd trains clatter and roar to their next destination And watched From this perch a few feet above earthwormsTornadoes rip apart livesLess than three miles awayAnd bugs fry on the blue light Just thereAnd I have sweated directly underneath this fanGuzzling beerBut it was worth it Just to sit and be at peaceBut this weekend I have been wadded in a blanket In the early hoursAnd it was perfectionWith my red wine and book As the night got deeperAnd nowOn my last nightI write this poemAnd wonder why people need TVs…
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This is going to come as a shock to most all of you: I used to not like pit bulls. I know. Hard to believe, innit? But it’s true, Scout’s Honor. I thought they were ugly, number one, and number two, vicious. I didn’t need to know anything else. Well. Then as most of you know, I met a dog that changed all that. He was 5’10”, had blue eyes, and a propensity to drink too much. Hahaha. But honestly, a love of pit pulls was spawned with that relationship and the love of the bully breed certainly outlasted the marriage. Sugar was my first encounter with the Staffordshire Terrier. We pittie people say that to throw people off. Pit bull is a generic term used to describe a bulldog with certain characteristics, like a muscular build and block head. Sugar was papered out the whatsit. She was one of the most pedigreed dogs I’ve ever known. And dumb as a river rock sittin’ on the bottom, growin’ moss. (Credit to the late Uncle Dale) She honestly didn’t have enough sense to get out of the rain. She could eat more than any dog I’ve ever seen, which is unusual for a dog that’s never been starved. She was steel gray, and virtually impossible to see after the sun went down. Loyal, loving, and impossibly stupid, she would lope around outside…
I had to give my dog one last pat And rub those velvet earsJust one final time before I left my sanctuary And I had to be extra careful walking down the pathAs it had rained last night and Jewel colored leaves were stuck making my way slickThen I stopped to have a discussion with my neighborAbout the woolyworm she found on her porchWhich of course led to talk of the impending winterAnd so then when I finally got in my carWithout my coffeeI had to find just the right song to start my dayAnd as I drove inI was mesmerized by the fog rolling steadily across the mountainIt wasn’t so much the colors that stopped meOn the side of the road to take a blurry picture As it was the way the light was sparkling so clear With the mist continuing on its journey Nothing delaying it Unlike myselfWho had been interrupted half a dozen times already It is Fall Break after allBut I didn’t go to the beachI stayed right hereWhere I belongAnd I thought of how some people get itAnd it’s second nature to use certain phrasesAnd it’s musical These mountain waysSo anywayThat’s why I’m lateAnd it didn’t help that I hit snooze twice…
I don’t want To straighten my hair To trade my glasses for contacts To lose weight To wear trendy clothes So you can say I’m pretty I also don’t need your acceptance I just want to be left alone To drink my coffee in peace And enjoy the wind on my face Because I don’t care enough About my appearance To leave the windows up Have you realized how deprived You are And how limited to liking certain things Just to fit in When you tell yourself You’re standing out I wish you would sing Like nobody’s listening (Because they’re not) And if they are They just wish they had the courage to sing Like you’re doing And have fun In that abandoned fashion I wish you would dance Even though you wore the wrong shoes And it’s so hot And you don’t know these people All the more reason The blisters will heal The sweat will dry And the people will forget If they remember at all Eat the cheese The doughnuts The cake The steak Drink the liquor The cheap wine The mountain dew that’s no good for you Hold the hand Make the call Because you get one trip It’s not easy to be a nerd In a party crowd To be a gardener In a city To embrace your contentedness In a room full Of money hungry Power tripping Hustlers If only You could…
My commute to work sucks. It doesn’t suck because of roadwork, or a road that NEEDS work. It doesn’t suck because it’s choked with air pollution or that it’s an exceedingly long drive. It doesn’t suck on account of the view or a particularly narrow and windy path. It sucks because people are in a hurry and there are way too many of them. I drive through school traffic the second I leave my driveway. There are four literally on top of me, and Kings Academy on one route I take to get to the highway. If I go Boyds Creek I contend with another school. There is no way to win. Every. Single. Day. I contend with tailgaters and road rage. I don’t care to tell you I travel 10 mph over the speed limit and I always have at least one car during my journey following so closely I cannot see their headlights. It’s often I’m not even the one holding up traffic; I’m in a long line of travelers just trying to get there. It gives me major anxiety and I honestly don’t know what to do about it. There are limited places to pull off the road and let them pass, but what good does that do when there’s another one blasting up through there to take their place? I don’t know…
I hope that my words never seem disrespectful. I usually feel the need to purge and sometimes it’s about sensitive subjects. I have been labeled a sensitive soul, because I tend to cry at the drop of a hat. But in the meantime, my smart mouth is forever earning me the label of…well, you know. You’ve heard. I AM strong-willed, I have no lies to tell. I say all this because I didn’t take a picture today. It would have been disrespectful to take out my phone and snap one, no matter how badly I wanted to remember the beauty of it. I have only my words. I go to a ton of funerals. I don’t see it as morbid. I was raised up in funeral homes like some kids are raised in church. Seems like somebody all the time was dying. Holly Hills, Berry’s, Atchley’s, Rawlings, McCammon-Ammons were the ones locally that we frequented. Once I started working at the Co-op, we occasionally branched out to Newport and Morristown. College friends laying their parents to rest were sometimes surprised to see me turn up, not understanding that I was raised to comfortably attend these events. It doesn’t matter if it’s Greeneville or Cookeville or Murfreesboro. I will come. People don’t seem to understand that you don’t have to know the person who passed, you…
Have you ever been treated as an outcast? Like you were the only kid in your class who wore glasses, or had freckles or curly hair? Or maybe you were a transplant from some far away city into a rural type town. Have you ever felt like you were the only one? And so, since you didn’t have anyone to talk to, you turned to books. And in books you found others just like you, a kid who had glasses and curly hair. A kid who had divorced parents. A country kid in a city school. A kid who wanted a dog but only had two goldfish in a glass bowl on the kitchen counter. You identified with these characters because they had things in common with you, and it seemed like a miracle because you were all alone until you discovered this book that appeared to be written just for you. Some kids are fortunate enough to have parents who talk to them, who pray with them, who teach them right from wrong. Some kids aren’t fearful of talking to a teacher, or a church leader, or maybe they trust a neighbor or relative with their deepest secrets and use them as a moral compass. But some kids don’t have that. Some kids only have books as friends, and as allies. Some kids only have books as a means to justify feelings or to trust with their heart. Maybe these kids use their…
Soil is one of three things, when we are evaluating pH. Acidic, alkaline, or basic. Depending on what you’re growing, you could want any one of them. You modify your soil by using lime or sulfur. But sometimes you just leave it alone and it’ll straighten itself out over time. “Hold whatcha got.” How many times have I heard those words? My earliest memories are of working on the farm, stretching fence. “Hold whatcha got,” because I wasn’t strong enough to pull any more, but I could hold what was there. I might have to bear down and dig in, but I would hold. I am stubborn as an oak when I need to be. Stubborn as a deep rooted thistle, more like, seeing as how prickly my disposition is. “Hold whatcha got.” As I grew up, of course I made friends. Sometimes it was hard to stay friends when we had a difference of opinion or new people moving in who were brighter and shinier. But if you have a good friend, you better keep them. I’m proud to say I’ve had my best friend in the whole world for thirty years now. She is definitely worth holding onto. “Hold whatcha got.” Now it was money. This is probably the most recurring mantra for holding on that I would hear in my life. I had saved, but it still wasn’…
When I say I love East Tennessee, I mean it. I love possums waddling across the road and chickens scratching in the ditch. I love roadside produce stands, how when in doubt we fry it, the sunrises and sunsets, the drone of the katydids in July evenings, the Friday night high school football pride that transitions to a love for the Big Orange, how we bleed orange from birth– if you’re raised right. I love the mountains on display at every turn, the proud mindset of all us mountain people who continue to find a way to get by. I love the lightning bugs, bringing just a little magic to twilight. I love the Junebugs too. I love a lazy Sunday anchored in a holler on the lake, and a fiddle playing breaking out at a family reunion at Metcalf Bottoms. I love the festivals celebrating every season and holiday. I love Jack in the Pulpit and the history of our hills and valleys. I love the books that pour out of people after they visit just once. I love the poetry on the tongues of every native. It’s a cadence, it’s a way of life, our storytelling is communication of our love of the land. I even love the funerals, and the hellfire and brimstone preaching. I love bats on the wing and swallows diving for skeeters. I love that you always know somebody no matter where you go. I love Girl…
