This is a little embarrassing, but oh well...

Here is a poem that I wrote a few months ago and that I thought still summed up many of my recent reflections and thoughts. To preface this, know that I don't usually put poems I write out there because it makes me feel quite vulnerable (moreso than revealing blog entries, haha). But oh well, this year is all about embracing discomfort, right? So here goes nothing.


To be (the fundamental verb):

I start from my feet
My father’s feet, long and thin
The second toe almost bigger than the big toe
Bony but strong, standing on the earth
And feeling the roots of my home, the ones who came before me
Roots that go deep into the Piedmont, Midlands, and coastal soil, formed by the
Mill villages, farms, and cities
The feet of my mother’s family that worked the land and then
The mills
The feet of my father’s family that worked the land and then
The city.

Legs, long
Bones underneath long and strong connected to the feet from my father, the bones
That give me my height in the world from my father and grandmother
The muscles, fat, and skin from my mother’s side to give them their size
Flesh to fill out the bones.

Skin so pale that you can see the veins through which the blood
Flows , a mix of folks both known and unknown
The hair so thin and pale it’s barely visible unless you’re up close.

Hips, wide from my mother
Aunts, grandmother, great-grandmother

My stomach with the moles on it that I used to trace
Belly button that looks like a pinched bean
Source of teenage angst and fear of looking fat
Always hidden under t-shirts

Breasts, small and firm but still there, showing themselves
In long, spring dresses that flow all the way down to my feet, over my legs
Loose around my stomach and my mother’s hips

Strong shoulders built of bones from my father,
Going into arms so long that I got detention in high school for wearing shorts
Shorter than my arms
Wrists that are small and thin into hands that are small and thin

Hands that hold cigarettes and love
Covered in the same pale skin of all those before me.

Fingers that are pulled, scarred, and now type

Arms that lift and wrap around my back
The most elusive part of me, strong with ribs built of bone built of generations

Up to the neck, long but not too long.

The face that is connected to all that the body, bones, and feet feel

The structure given to me by my father, Tillman grandmother
Bunch mouth and nose from my father,
Lips my parents called “Princess lips” to make me smile
Eyes to see those around me from my Gray mother, eyes from
Poor white farmers, workers, eyes that married up and moved to the city
Eyes that watched a husband die, a love

Ears from both to hear hushed voices and things that go unsaid

Hair that falls into my face and sometimes covers all of this
Fine and blonde and straight until puberty hit
Now wavy, thick, and dark blonde

Bones from my father, flesh from my mother. Roots that reach deep into the soil
Soul of a state.

Inside a brain, always racing and stopping and churning and moving the limbs and the future around inside. The brain that keeps to itself and likes to keep its secrets hidden well behind the mouth, lips, and eyes.

Eyes, ears, nose, and mouth that have seen and brought to the brain things that the other parts of me never saw, never entertained.

I that move thoughts and plans through my nerves, from my hair to my feet.