BY: Telyse Adams
Some people call me old, But I prefer seasoned
West African spices
Mixed with West African blood
Flows down my river
And through my cobblestone streets
It drips out the pores of my city’s soul
You cannot mention me
Without mentioning Them
Them whose feet never had the luxury
To walk leisurely down River Street
The very street they constructed—-
Some people call me old, But I prefer wise
My trees, my beautiful trees
Spanish moss-covered oaks
Graze the heavens with their grace
Brush the core with their roots
Breathing life into this city
Infusing it with 300 year old energy
They’ve seen great things… heard great things
They’ve sat through plenty storms
Still standing erect… unfazed and unbothered
With a story to tell about their Creator—-
Some people call me old, But I prefer deep fried
Take anything my land grows
Drop it in hot grease
And watch the flavor rise
Here… grits dance with shrimp
Sausages frolic in rice
Biscuits submerge themselves in the gravy of my city
Thick yet weightless
Complex yet smooth
Rich yet simple
A Medley of the South