Light copper clay

clothes this spirit,

houses this farm girl soul.

 

No noble-born lady ever walked

in these grass-stained shoes

and cut off jeans

 

or walked her dog

by the pond

along the muddy field

 

where buzzards roost

on a barn, waiting

for cows to die.

 

It wasn’t a beauty queen

who pulled garden weeds

in mid-day heat

 

while manly sweat

soaked her hair,

dripped into her eyes,

 

and deposited salt on her lips

so that she jumped into a pool,

still fully dressed.

 

There is no fantasy-dream woman

under these wraps, no Snow White,

no damsel with doe eyes and cherry lips.

 

There is only me

sun-freckled, cornbread eatin’,

southern-drawl, bean-shellin’,

Me.