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The Alpha and Omega of the Mississippi Delta
The sun-smacked back roads run past little churches lording over congregations of kudzu. Pecan deacons leaning over graveyards whose tombstones list
from the tilt of time. 
On the empty days I would pull into these groves
to swig from the growler of shade some faint respite.
Too late I see the clutch of vine, the green noose
hanging from the old limb. The unsettled past
dangling from the wounded moss. In response,
nearby magnolias spread benedictions of blossom,
each petal a poultice of unfolding grace, falling
over the bruised earth.

 Published in
Whirlwind Magazine

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