The Dirt

bury me in a small town where locals breed catfish, 

the elders elect to store savings in their mattress, 

things always fall apart, and green grass grows in patches 

I can't say I'm from the streets 

it was the dirt that raised me 

the theatrics of backyard banter were  

scholastic in ways book-learning wasn't,  

and I loved sidewalk-less suburbs; everyone's 

momma had sweet potatoes stocked in cupboards 

still, some spirit pulls me from the dirt that raised me 

and yet city me is unfamiliar 

city me latches onto hip-hop classics and tries to 

find identity within the syllables of streets I  

never walked at night, at night

we'd go play in dark pastures 

where starlight would reflect off of our innocence onto 

broken beer bottles before fading into ambiance  

the dirt that raised me was medicinal 

if you rub the minerals in just right 

the potholes stuck out like hungry hands, and 

sands from hourglasses seem suspended 

in time, we grew from boys to older boys 

the dirt that raised me never spared the rod 

and was mindful of when streetlights came on 

the dirt that raised me expects homecoming