As I drink my sweet tea,
I remember my Southern upbringing.
Running barefoot through the fields
with my half-naked cousins
and trying to avoid getting a whooping
for playing in the mud.
I remember Thanksgiving
at Momma G’s house,
where we enjoyed hearty turkey
and the most delectable green beans.
I remember how bad things got
when Aunt Renee died.
I remember my mother’s boyfriend
forcing me to be the house slave.
I remember fighting with my cousins
and feeling so alone.
I remember Momma fighting with Uncle Tommy
and us moving away
to some New England, suburban bullshit.
I remember how the sweet tea
became bitter for a long time.