South Carolina
By Rose LaCroix

I do not fear the copperhead, the cottonmouth, or Moccasin;
They were uneasy neighbors, nothing more.
I do not fear the grinning alligator nor
The squalling bobcat, and
I have been blessed by the gaze of wolf and coyote
In the sweltering southern glade.

And still my heart is turned by
The Reveille of blue jays,
The evensong of cicadas,
And the lullaby of whippoorwills.

Still my memory grows langorous
For slow, weedy rivers where
bream and catfish leap toward the sun,
And the Gothic nave of the cypress swamp
Where wooden knees forever bend in prayer.

But I cannot explain to them
What keeps me from 
The land of countless childhood summers;
The affairs of hairless Eden's child
Are none of their concern.

And so I whistle back the whippoorwill's goodnight,
And turn, tearful, to the West
But ever in my memory I hear her call
Through humid long ago.