ROCKY MOUNT, NC

James Kerns

A twelve year old can learn a lot in Rocky Mount, NC.
Of a summer day I'd sit on the front porch
And listen through the screen-door to flies
Buzzing their life out against the fly-strip
While Aunt Hazel fried chicken and okra.
My gums all chalky from the haze and heat and
Girls walking by in gingham dresses with dirty ankles
And a finger stuck in their mouths shooing stiff-backed dogs
That skittered sideways, snapping and howling in the dust.
Those August fields were heavy with swollen berries--
The smell came up on you sweet and sticky and never let go.
I know that scent today, and the swimming-hole with its
Black-butter mud cooling my calves and
The water tasting of rotting leaves and wet clay.
After you let-go of the rope swing
You could hear the surface close behind you like distant car doors
While the cool waves came rushing up from your feet.
I learned how long a day could be in Rocky Mount.
Sometimes it seemed a week could come
Between two pieces of Aunt Hazel's fried chicken
Or the drowsy waves of a barefoot girl.