My body was born by the Great Dismal Swamp from a fire-headed woman who hummed hymnals in the mornin like she was raising the sun.

36 years later I feel them pulsing, carrying me like her green bean casserole with that homemade gravy you return to like home after a hard day.

My heart was born not too far up the road in a country holler by the river.

Each vessel slow-pumped into being with every whippoorwill chorus and fierce eddy line, every gentle morning fog dancing high above the forest, every quiet night sung to sleep by bullfrogs and coyotes and cicada song.

When the world feels too big and full, I return there eyes closed and humming, gravy supper simple song, fit right into the country chorus like I was raised up here ’cause I was….

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