One man in my life scratches poetry across continents
scything hemispheres on snatches of scrolling lines.
The other man in my life sends me adolescent pecans
scything hemispheres on snatches of scrolling lines.
The other man in my life sends me adolescent pecans
picked from the breast of our mother's father’s dirt
where memory echoes buried beneath
remembered fragrance of 9¢ bales of cotton
chopped with bent sweat
before songs of freedom rang
beneath a chorus of bleeding bent southern trees.
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