Georgia.
Three years under my feet sat
Georgia.
She wasn’t my mother,
My sister,
My aunt,
Or my cousin’s best friend’s transgender brother.
Georgia
Was 59, 425 square miles of home.
Family.
A place for unconditional love to roam.
Georgia
Was familiar,
Like the smell of my mother’s perfume,
Or my oldest family heirloom.
Georgia
Stretched as wide as she could
Until one hand met the ocean
And the other held hands with Alabama,
Their history together still slightly filled with tension.
Georgia
Bumped shoulders with South Carolina,
Each unaware of the changes that were about to take place
A fifteen year long path they could never retrace.