Coastal Plains

by Margaux Novak


North Carolina sticks

            to my insides
like hot corn grits.

My vagabond existence belying,

                      the muddy smell of salt marsh
I hope for in other sandy shores.

But love, I need to lie down
                       nose deep in those bluegrass blades
wrap my arms around a whole

hillside— tiny white dogwood flowers
                       above like stars, catching
crickets that sing me home

at the bottom of a summer’s night
                        chirping the sun down
into amber, then payne’s grey.

This way my heart gathers itself at dusk,
dissipates, a last earth smell; lonely gust.


[Check out Margaux’s back porch wisdom]