I closed my eyes and leaped

A few days ago, for the first time, I voluntarily submitted three poems (Edifice, The Southern Thing, and Sestina for my Charlotte) to a literary journal--Crazyhorse--for publication. Crazyhorse has published a few works by Billy Collins, a major influence on my own writing. I decided to take a chance with this publication because if his poetry found a niche there, perhaps mine could.

My submission was the 34,411^st.

Prayers.

The Southern Thing

I didn’t understand my Southern self

Until I moved to South Dakota—I

Was just thirteen, then. I was—you might say—

A novelty. Very nice, that. It gave me

A sense of place in being out of place.

Years later, at that college—How was I

To know there was guilt being Southern, that

A limit on my social standing—mind

So filled with culture notwithstanding. I

Did try to change, to smooth my talk, to make

Straight my meandering speech. Lost the cause.

My heart was cheered by my kind friend—he said

I was quite different from the rednecks,

Hillbillies, “good ole’ boys.” I did believe

Him. Got used to my rambling cadence, thought

I was okay to walk about and talk

In good society—You understand,

I think, now, why when she said, “I’m glad

I’m not a Southerner,” what I heard was,

“I’m glad I’m not like you.”

[This poem hurt to write more than I thought it would.]