“The Invention of the South”

Place your finger in my mouth
and I’ll speak slower than baby teeth
(say love). South of the boundary rock
we touch the land barehanded.
We gather spider lilies by the Catawba
for our sweethearts. We hollow out gourds
to store our wrens. We help the raccoons
gather piles of silver teeth. Turn alligator
claws into amulets. Wrap red threads
around carefully broken branches.

When our jaws work properly,
we dry deer meat on the wide granite hills.
We take teethy bites out of peaches,
let the stick get good on our faces,
let the itch get into our guts.
Our manners are coming along fine except when they ain’t.
It is either cuss or sing only you are holy.
All the cotton turns into moths.
We have only answers,
sass mouths, dagger eyes.

The (first) fire is an accident.
We sleep best with a bible under our pillows.
We learn to walk the ground careful
not to tall into old wells,
to trap animals for pets and supper,
to check our brother’s hair for ticks
every summer night. Stray dogs find our yard.
A pine tree breaks our hearts.
We learn to look for vultures in the distance,
to recognize that they are not hawks or eagles.

–Alyson Sinclair
found in Tin House (vol. 11, no. 4)