Home Poem by M. Ayodele Heath

This is a place where when tomorrow's Easter Sunday & you ain't got no money, the barber tell ya Boy, you betta get up in this chair & don't even look at you funny

& y'all still listen to the Braves on that same A.M. radio he heard Hank break Babe record back in 1974

Where old folks on the front porch with they gold teeth laughin is like the sweet, sweet sound of the gates of Heaven swingin

& uncles trim they frontyard hedges wavin to every car that passes by & Last time I seen you, boy, you was *this* high & Grandmas knit rainbows to hang across the sky

A place clownin, Jamesbrownin, Heyyyyyyyy into a broom, of slow-draggin with a mop, Cleopatra Jones in my arms, or a towel around my head, daydreamin I'm a Supreme

A place of first feels and first kisses and those ol school whoopins where ya pick your own switches, of afterschool visits to the Candy Lady— sour apple Blow Pops & saltwater taffy, Nehi Peach & RC Cola

A place of broken arms & scraped knees & tomboys climbin crabapple trees, of Stay-Sof-Fro for nappy heads & the Boogieman hidin beneath the bed, of 4-Square, hopscotch, red-light-green-light, double-dutch, and ain't much happenin but that don't stop the gossips from gatherin for iced tea after church

A place of givin up your seat to the elderly on the bus, of when a lady's in the room no gentleman would cuss, of streetlights—not clocks—tellin us when it's dark, of sittin still when it's thunderin lettin God do His work

A place passin somebody walkin on the street— whether you know ‘em or not— you know enough to speak, where your word is your bond and on
Sunday shoes shine like a good family name

A place of no Christmas unless shakin every box under the tree, of no New Years unless collard greens & black-eyed peas, of no spring without crowds cheerin the grand slam & no summer without the Ice Cream Man

A place of Sunday rides, weekend fish frys, sweet potato pies, hoecakes, macaroni & cheese, candied yams and fried green tomatoes, mashed potatoes, peach cobbler, and sweet hickory ribs so tender they just slide off the bone

This is a place
This is a place
This is a place called Home