Tupelo

I heard you folded up your leaves,
canceled class, and left
the ivy walls that dropped you
... like ripe fruit broke from
fifteen years’ work,
dissertation slung like a vine
from your weary southern back.

I heard you raked up all those tomes
left your cold water kitchen
dead palm, type ribbon
and took a Memphis train
for tall blue grass
and a house-on-stilts
knee deep in bayou mud.

I heard you went back to Tupelo
where your tree moss roots
remembered Daddy’s bitter
heart wood and Mama’s
blue magnolia shade.