by Alex Alford
Once, when I was younger, I lost my way in the woods.
Those Alabama pines were there long before me.
Those Alabama pines will be here long after me.
I found my way home by listening to the wind.
I know I am home when I listen to the wind
carrying the tune of a creaking pew and a hushed hymn.
I carry this place around in my head, a constant hushed hymn;
a melodic chain, linking me to our history.
I’d like to think we aren’t chained to our history,
but I grew up with a shotgun in the closet.
All my skeletons are holding shotguns in the closet.
I have spent my life trying to know this place.
Will I waste my life trying to know this place?
Soon, when I am older, I will find my way out of the woods.