your voice
a quiet clarion, appalachian
a beacon 
you are like the word, entity
you were born in blue mountains
populated with rows of old growth,
and violet butterflies

but you don’t live there presently

when you see the foothills you sigh in relief
you never have worry of sticking out at home

like someone standing a-corner at a dance

this that i hear is the rarely understood,
the dealer shuffling out so many accents of
so many places barely called home, and 
the question
      what people will get to know about me
      what, what will it be
the more you’ve wandered out to sing, 
the more it sticks that 
there is a big town word to describe a thing
there is a holler word to say “that’s a spring.” and
there are judges and juries that would break you,
to know where you flew in from.

i’ve seen the same.


you are fascinating.