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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.