04/08/2023-Let It Grow-Tortuga Gallery

I. California is not the Promised Land.

II. I always imagine some blue-haired

old grandma that doesn’t know how to say, “Good-bye.”

She’s from down south, somewhere,

and she does this sort of shuffle at the door,

this sort of Mississippi Half-Step Uptown.

“Toodeloo,” she says as she pinches the youngest boy’s cheeks.

III. If I don’t use my voice,

My allergies will turn it into a croak,

a mouthful of rocks, a black throated wind

that is audible but also messed up.

IV. You’d only know it when you watched them dance,

as if dancing brought it out cause the rest of the time

it was like they didn’t know who they were,

but they love each other,

it’s true.

V. When I use my voice,

The sound is strong, an Easy Wind

carrying cooling temperatures across

desert landscapes.

VI. Whenever I drive to Colorado,

There’s a county line marker on the side of the road.

Every time I see it I start singing,

“Brown-Eyed Woman…then follow the chorus with,