mama carries me to the porch
tender, still with the glowing dampness
of aged rain. orange blossoms tinge the air as
my honeyhead savors warm scents
of marmalade nectar.

mama leans us against wood railings
watching the breeze hopscotch ‘round the trees
in an indigo playground. my arms outstretch,
trying to grasp the thick air
as her heart close to mine beats a nocturne tune.

mama hums love supreme, each note
a thread, that stitches eloquent webs
of gossamer galaxies in my mind.
hanging pines prickle my delicate skin and
through midnight’s wispy clouds
i see Her,

Her Majesty
dressed in white. she bleeds bright,
covering me in a veil of luminous beams.
there, i speak for the first time
*moon.

Daddy takes me to the greenhouse,
behind our rotted trailer, deep in sovereign backwoods.
Marsh voices, thick like tupelo honey.

The coo of a loon, hiss of a cottonmouth, shiver of a snapping turtle.

The silver of swamp lilies lip the land in wild haze,
a veil of ochre moss tickles my nose like gauzey ginger ale
and soil clings to my ankles like a lonesome hound.

Daddy’s greenhouse is a shed, a haven.
A milieu of magic and fleur-de-cannabis
where pixies pull my curls and gnomes dance
under mushroom parasols.

My hands dip into a hollow of muddy earthworms.
I feel akin to the yellow blood of a butterfly
or pale jade of perplexing geckos.  

Daddy is a shaman.

He trims holy blooms that come from spirits
who sing in the wind like the whippoorwill at dusk.
Snipping sticky bushels, he pads tufts into his pipe,
carved in the shape of a sullen armadillo.

I watch him inhale.

                          His breath
                                               stiff
                            as a braid of mangroves.

                      He exhales a ligneous cough.

                              I don’t mind,
                                                   much.

Close the eyes
to give it a try:
Florida sun
vibrant and warm

Sensations known
but not felt

It was -indeed-
and that is
all it was

Had nice thoughts of Florida
'till a 'gator ate a man
So morbida

Florida,
You raised us in South.
With a palm tree mentality,
I can't find paradise.
In this heat I feel paralyzed,
Returned on a plane from the mid west,
thought I was doing what I knew best.
The UV rays ****** with my head, creating a false oasis.
The only rays they tell you to **** with are those called Raybans, so we can look like the rest of us.
Suggested tan like the rest of us.
Skin damaged like the rest of us.
Drink martinis like the rest of us.

Sometimes I feel like tour brochures got the best of us.

New York ~ News
New Jersey ~ Beaches
California ~ Movies
Florida ~ Disney World
Kentucky ~ Chicken
Texas ~ People that can't fit in their cars
Connecticut ~ Lyme Disease