An interdisciplinary journal about regions, places, and cultures of the US South and their global connections
  • resep kue kering
  • resep kue
  • recept
  • resep sambal goreng kentang
  • resep kue sus
  • resep ayam
  • resep soto ayam
  • resep ikan bakar
  • pecel lele
  • resep kue kering lebaran
  • resep nastar
  • resep nasi goreng
  • resep ayam goreng
  • resep ayam bakar
  • kue ulang tahun
  • resep pancake
  • resep bolu kukus
  • liga inggris
  • anjing dijual
  • recipe
  • Self-Portrait at a Bend in the Road

    Tarsus, Alabama

    It takes a while to find the place
    where I can hold the photograph
    and the mountain will finish itself,

    and a while until I'll let it drop

    unafraid that the bus will be there
    evaporating into flame,

    the mob still shouting, still waiting

    for the troopers and agents to clear
    so they can finish the job,

    or the Freedom Riders they've chased

    from Anniston, still
    smoked out and choking on the grass.

    So much else is gone —

    the grocery where the driver ran
    "for help," the homes

    where Mother's Day dinners cooled

    while the locals watched the smoke
    agitate the north Alabama sky,

    and Janey Miller, the twelve year old

    with a well bucket
    and a dipper for anyone who coughed.

    They taunted her, her neighbors,

    the store owner and the riot,
    even the bus driver safe within the fold,

    but she carried on,

    and they carried on,
    even after the wreck was towed,

    until the Millers packed and were gone.

    But half of that, maybe more,
    would be torn down to widen the road,

    and that silence would be lost,

    would be written over
    leaving the road a by-way, a dead end

    with a plaque where people

    hold photographs to the air
    so they can stand where the newsmen stood,

    over that place where the Riders waited

    in a circle of grace and disbelief,
    fragile as the surface of a ladle

    that hears each word.

    Now the traffic's talking over
    something else, I catch myself

    on the car's hot windows,

    distorted just enough
    to be someone else — a cousin

    or a local on the edge of the frame

    ready to disappear
    into the smoke or the heat or the trees.

    The mountain's dark behind me.

    My hand's on the latch,
    the last warmth still there.

    One of us is leaving.

    One of us is already gone.

    "Self-Portrait At A Bend in the Road" first appeared in The Northwest Review and will appear in Persons Unknown (Southern Illinois University Press, 2010, forthcoming).

    Published: 15 April 2010
    © 2010 Jake Adam York and Southern Spaces