Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal

Umbilicus

Louie Crew


These adult chambers, Mother,
I first heard wombed inside you.
The veined red marriage bed
in a corner of my dream
pulsates warmth you taught me to enjoy.

The smiles some cabbie draws,
some lover woos from my lips,
were your smiles
when you spooned my porridge.

Grandmother is dead.
Up early, we drive to her funeral
down the back of this long mountain.
You have never seen a sunrise,
you tell me.
I pull to the shoulder
just before the red tongue rims the east.
The silence quakes.
We watch, blood-bound.

***

Louie Crew is a professor emeritus of English at Rutgers University. He has edited special issues of College English and Margins. He has had 1,655 works published and has written four poetry volumes: Sunspots (Lotus Press, Detroit, 1976) Midnight Lessons (Samisdat, 1987), Lutibelle's Pew (Dragon Disks, 1990), and Queers! for Christ's Sake! (Dragon Disks, 2004).

Born and raised in Anniston, Alabama, he holds an MA from Auburn and a PhD from the University of Alabama.

© Louie Crew

Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal ISSN 1554-8449, Copyright © 2004-2012