The Carpet Bagger's Journal — moving from NYC to Mississippi

March 17, 2015

And all of a sudden, Mississippi happens

I traveled North in ice a week ago yesterday.  I came back to green hills, birds in trees, daffodils, new blossoms.  It’s not too hot.  It’s not too cold.  The air is not infested with mosquitoes, not yet at least.  It smells vaguely of chamomile and vanilla.

Birds all sing as if they knew.

Birds all sing as if they knew.

Spring has sprung, momma.  Spring has sprung.  The campus of Ole Miss is gently warm.  Students have exchanged parkas for shorts.  Walking around is a stroll, not a dash to avoid frigid pellets.

For those who haven’t already done so, it’s a good time to fall in love.

As Tennessee Williams more or less remarked, young people love as if they were inventing love.  The students here, all toned, fresh-faced, and tentatively swaggering, hair-flipping, giggling, are out in due season like the blossoms.  They are all so very pretty.  Even the nervous ones are pretty.

The Greeks would have told you that Persephone had emerged from the depths of Hades once more.  The country singers tell you that a girl in tight jeans is swinging her hips as she walks slowly by their truck, looking back with a longing gaze.  I tell you something in the middle of these two declarations of what is going on here.

Here is a poem from my forthcoming collection, out this April — The White Trash Pantheon — about this time of life and time of year.  It originally appeared in Connecticut Review.

PERSEPHONE’S CONFESSION

Momma, I lied to you.

I wasn’t kidnapped.  He was driving around town

For weeks in his silver flat-bed with his buddy Chiron

And that old, ugly hunting dog with the funny name.

He was giving me what you call the evil eye – but it’s not evil, Momma!

It’s just got that new math in it –

Me minus you equals negative me, baby,

You minus clothes equals me on my knees, sugar,

Me plus you equals you plus me equals me plus you plus me plus you –

And then one day, Chiron and his dog were gone, and he opened

The door.  I hopped in.

One true thing I told you – the Earth split open, and he floored it.

Momma, I know it was wrong, but you wouldn’t understand –

He’s a mountain man, and winter is friendly to him.  I come and go

As I please.  The thing about the pomegranate seeds, I made it up.

I get plenty to eat when I’m there –  Can he ever cook!

I help him at his cat fish fry shack – you know the saying:

Out of the frying pan into the – but I don’t mind.  I like it.

The oil spatters, and my arms burn a little, and I shiver.

He feeds me his funnel cake, which is thick and buttery.

His heavy fingers on me, with their rough skin – why do

You think the new buds are so pink and perky this year?

Why do you think the shallow lake is writhing with

New schools of golden guppies? Spring has sprung, Momma.

Momma, the netherworld, it’s only that way because

He doesn’t know divinity – that’s why the walls are bare.

He thinks it’s all a plot to confuse the game season tourists,

All a myth, especially what they say about him.  He

Growls at me, “Try me, baby!  I like religious arguments!

I believe in math and science.  I believe in my arms for

Heavy lifting, honey.”  Then he just grabs me, and

The talking stops.  What’s the point of blah-blah with

Catfish sizzling and the sailor’s salt-mouth suddenly

stopping its cursing to nibble instead?  I don’t even

Mind washing the grease off everything afterwards.

My hands are always busy, and then he looks at me

With the new math eyes – you bent over the sink times

Three equals me over you over and over again, baby,

Me over you equals never times infinity, beautiful  –

Momma, he wants to meet you.  He wants to come over

After he closes his kitchen after dinner.  Oh, please!

Maybe you can convince him about the God thing.

Momma, I’m sorry I lied.  It’s just that you think

Spring is all lilies, but it’s really about the mating.

________

This is why Mississippi is so lovely this time of year.  Love is being reinvented, often transgressively.

The air is filling with bird cries.  The warm air has brought out the frogs.  The South awakes from her long slumber and shakes her long hair.  She is looking back at me as I drive by like she wants a ride in my vehicle down some back road.  I am opening the door like a singer at the Opry, just for her.

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3 Comments »

  1. Awesome!

    Comment by Casey Ann Hughes — March 17, 2015 @ 3:37 pm | Reply

  2. I still love ❤️ the way you tell this story, Anne ! And then Mississippi is just happening all over again this year ! ❤️🎈❤️❤️

    Comment by Irenadawn — April 12, 2017 @ 5:02 pm | Reply


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