Muscadine Lines: A Southern Journal

The Brier Sings the Blues

Carol Dee Pigg

He always felt too close to the lights
when he returned from a trip back home.
He would lament the loss of himself over
a beer, thinking of all the cracks that
resided in the shadows of his small room. He
could only do this when the conversations in his
mind stopped. He could still hear his
granddaddy’s voice, calling the coon hounds home
after a long hunt, and he tried to forget.
These nights were dark, even with the lights,
because he could never let go of the smells of home,
the memories of faces he longed to see again, of
the leaves turning orange and red and gold,
of feeling his tongue laugh as he drank the muscadine
wine that his cousin made last year, or of knowing
that the mountains would follow him, whispering of home,
after only a few days there.
Turning away from the light, he embraced the shadows
that crept across his heart—he would welcome these memories anytime.


Carol Dee Pigg teaches English at Martin Methodist College in Pulaski, Tennessee.

© Carol Dee Pigg

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