Southern Heat

It is a riff,
A dance of metal strings,
Played by a hand silent,
Much too long,
Catching my ears,
A sound composed,
I have almost heard before,
A place my soul knows.
Memories unmade,
Of feet in the cool dirt,
Soft beneath the toes.
Of an untraveled gravel road.
Gravel sharp beneath your heal,
As you leave it behind you.
And the way that life smells,
On a hot summer afternoon,
In Arkansas,
Wet, pungent, and green.

Memories relived-once forgotten,
Of lazing on the porch,
In those blazon evenings,
Homemade ice-cream a melted effort,
Of the hot afternoon,
Slapping mosquitoes, hoping to outlast.
Children dry, from the river's embrace,
Bellies full of the bounty,
Laid out by Momma.
Find their bare feet,
Cool in the summer grass,
Beneath the shade,
Of the Magnolia, Oak, and Sweet Gum,
They compose a game of tag,
As the eve brings with her a lesser heat.

Adults smile indulgently,
Reaching for their mason jars of tea,
The ice a fleeting memory,
And the soft comforting drawl,
That sprawls into it all,
Safe kept in the heat,
Buried in a way of life,
Where nothing is forgotten,
Watching the world,
As one would an errant child,
As it runs by---leaving them untouched.