north carolina, 1999

i offer to this ground, 
this gin.
i imagine an old man 
crying here
out of the overseer’s sight,

pushing his tongue 
through where a tooth 
would be, if he were whole.
the space aches
where his tooth would be,

where his land would be his
house     his wife    his son
his beautiful daughter.

he wipes his sorrow from
his cheek, then
puts his thirsty finger
to his thirsty tongue
and licks the salt.

i call a name that
could be his.
this offering
is for you old man;
this salty ground,
this gin.