The South Poem by Gayle Sweeney

In the mid 1960's about
My family and I drove through the South
More than once on our way to Florida
To visit my grandmother and grandpa.
Florida - Spanish for flowering - is
The Sunshine State
With shimmery orange groves
And blue paradises at the white beaches.
I remember
Rt.301
And driving by the poor, unpainted shacks - houses - often
With shiny cars, bright cadillacs sometimes in the yards
In the sun.
'Colored' it said on the bathroom door
At an old gas station.
I'd never seen a sign like that before.
I was a child. (How many powder rooms does a mansion need?)
We went to a Catholic mass down a back country road
Which I hardly remember.
The congregation was Afro - American
Or mostly and us, too.
Spanish moss hung from bald cypress and southern live oak trees.
The earth was rich, sparkling brown.
One day near sunset we saw
A black man all alone walking - home from work perhaps
I sang quietly looking out the car window
At night as we rode in the dark.
I sang an impromptu song - softly and low -
In the seat behind my father as he drove.
At our hometown school he loved
To teach American history.
This story is about the South from me.