starts to show when I think almost
say what I was taught growing up
growing up white in Alabama means
you grow up believing you are better
a gravel driveway led to my house
surrounded no protected by the woods
a gravel driveway led to my house
surrounded no protected by the woods
we had a cast-iron gate an entrance
laid with stone our name engraved
as if my father meant to show our Alabama
laid with stone our name engraved
as if my father meant to show our Alabama
our money like a flag there are so many
words I said to fit in in my Alabama
those words a noose waiting to be tied
words I said to fit in in my Alabama
those words a noose waiting to be tied
when my Alabama is an instrument of death
to anyone not white when I’m taught how
to become if I become my father
to anyone not white when I’m taught how
to become if I become my father
what my father is his hands tying the knot
the hangman’s knot tightening the rope
my whiteness was is an instrument
the hangman’s knot tightening the rope
my whiteness was is an instrument
of death when my Alabama is my Alabama
I leave the state wanting to erase
each magnolia flower burning atop the water
I leave the state wanting to erase
each magnolia flower burning atop the water
like a paper lantern that never rose to the sky
the pond in front of my parent’s house
down a foot in the heat of the summer
the pond in front of my parent’s house
down a foot in the heat of the summer
when each pine gave me shade but I knew
the cost of each branch each pine growing
taller each year with me until one year
the cost of each branch each pine growing
taller each year with me until one year
I did not recognize the woods that once
held tree forts made from lumber my father
threw out those places I made to make myself
held tree forts made from lumber my father
threw out those places I made to make myself
feel safe I had the privilege of privacy
but when my Alabama is no longer
my Alabama when I want to leave
but when my Alabama is no longer
my Alabama when I want to leave
what I’ve already left I can’t escape my soil
my dirt but I can do better I must
my Alabama can’t be entirely forsaken
my dirt but I can do better I must
my Alabama can’t be entirely forsaken
not yet my terrible beautiful love my Alabama
I can’t sing my mouth a cannon my mouth
a cannon stuffed full of daisies still a cannon
I can’t sing my mouth a cannon my mouth
a cannon stuffed full of daisies still a cannon
still capable of violence despite the beauty
I can hear the music my Alabama it plays to me
but there is no place on this earth I can
I can hear the music my Alabama it plays to me
but there is no place on this earth I can
run from my own prejudice I am rebuilding
the engine of my head but no longer
from the same parts to keep the Pelham
the engine of my head but no longer
from the same parts to keep the Pelham
out of my brain and my brain out of
my mouth when my Alabama is an instrument
I can’t forget how to play I know I can
my mouth when my Alabama is an instrument
I can’t forget how to play I know I can
only hear the music if I listen when
I listen I must listen to overlay the song
I was taught with the song I must pass on
I listen I must listen to overlay the song
I was taught with the song I must pass on
each note plucked on barbed wire is full of rust
the banjo must be restrung and new
notes written behind no gates no violence
the banjo must be restrung and new
notes written behind no gates no violence
my ear against the dirt I must listen
no matter how loud the song gets I must
listen when my Alabama calls me home
no matter how loud the song gets I must
listen when my Alabama calls me home
Read on . . .
