This is a place where I remember and share.

I was born into contradiction—

red clay, small towns, quiet knowing.

I used to try to explain where I came from.

I used to write to explain.

I don’t anymore.

In this season of my life,

there is nothing to explain

and nothing to fix—

only something to notice.

I offer a place to sit with memory.

The field gathers it’s own.

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