-1A Daughter of the Confederacy and the Black Man
Which monochromatic shade does love
fall under?

Devotion is all fists; muscles carved out
of thorny ash, it's a list of all the words that
mean blue:


lists drilled into her, like 1.) Her
grandfather sailed a barge along
the Ashley River, made love to his
wife in the sepia-soaked cotton fields,
and died in Vicksburg, or 2.) History
is never far from her mind, it echoes,
and twines itself around her heart, like
ivy around the great house, before
Sherman burned it, his fat finger
stretched to a point, although his aim
was submission,

and yes, her family did own slaves, and
fought for a infant government with
the conviction of rights being given
as a group, rather then individually,

and so, as she sits in her pristine banquet
hall, reminiscent of the home she should
have inherited (though the family relocated
during the reconstruction, because there
was nowhere else to go) she is left with
her fruit salad and her lists:

3.) Her grandmother died silent of the
nightmares of eating rotting horse meat,
because that was all they had left. 4.) Left,
was more then a direction, it became a state
of mind.

She pulls her hair back; the slightest of sways,
each hair wound tightly to her bloody scalp, breathes
deeply, shakes the hand of a black man, posed
on the parapet of the Idea of the South,
ready to sip it like lemonade;
tart as any heaping of truth,

a conversation climactic in politeness,

in their greeting, they notice that the
shade from the magnolia tree's covers
the sidewalk, cobbled, ready for the buggy
that may never come.