![]() |
Persimmon
Poetry: Where I'm From by Devin Routh () persimmonpudding.com |
![]() |
| Diospyros virginiana L. (common persimmon): History, Cultivation, Celebration and Culture, Natural History, Botany, Health & Nutrition, Culinary Use (recipes), Commercial, Entertainment, News, Links, Sources, Home, Contact us!, |
Where I’m FromI’m from rolling pastures Veined by dry creek beds. Where centenarian white oaks, Younger than great-grandma Lucy And her calamine feet, Shade the black angus mixed with The santa gertrudis as they Chew their cud. I’m from kitchens Where green beans And ice cream Make music when we Cook them, Gardens and orchards where we Grow corn and tomatoes, Watermelons and apples, And enjoy the occasional persimmon pudding. Ambrosia isn’t coconut and pineapple, It’s two cups of sugar, Two cups of milk, Two cups of flour, Four eggs, cinnamon, vanilla, And two cups of persimmon pulp. I’m stuck between Erect And Climax, On the way to High Point But I never go there. I go down yonder And ask ‘chup to? I buy hay from Jack Fagg, Honey from Janice Horny, Meet John Brown at 3 a.m. To discuss politics and watch His drunk father drink more. I see my cousins When I drive 22 to town, “Routh Oil Company,” “Alvin’s Automotive.” Eric, adopted Cherokee, Still my blood kin, gives me 5th Avenues To say goodbye. In the barnyard, I smell the diesel Granddaddy Routh used to scrub The grease from under our fingernails. At the dinner table, I taste fire in the peppers Grandpa Cranford collected in his shirt pocket. I’m from coldwater springs Where we lose boots and calves To the mud, like quicksand but only knee deep. I’m from flower gardens Where opossums slumber, Where they wake under the moon To eat the leftover cat food. On my farm, We build cairns as monuments For the dogs and cats, Feed corn to the deer and save them From the hunters. Sanctuary. “Jesus is Lord Over Gray’s Chapel,” But my grandpas taught me How to fish, how to sow, To kiss the catfish And throw them back (Their lips look just like a person’s), Taught me how to look for pine hearts And cut wood already fallen, How to give life And only borrow it. Devin Routh reprinted here by permission of the author. Originally published on photographer Dan Routh's blog entry from August 14, 2008 here. |