My Song Americana

 

My Song Americana

I come to you barefoot
I chew bluegrass, drink corn
My rain is muddy water

My hands are raw from picking cotton
My lungs are black with coal
My farm is dust

I follow rivers by raft,
herd longhorns by horseback,
ride boxcars over endless plain

I killed the native and the buffalo
I regret
I sing of what remains

I am outlaw—I seek justice
I celebrate love—I betray it
I despise the rich—I want riches

I raise children in rags
They outgrow my front porch,
my tumbledown shack
I shame them with my twang,
my holler of blues

My children trade tractors for Teslas
They bring the south north
They take the west east

My children return with fresh children
who throw off shoes, who paddle kayaks,
who dive into muddy water
and come up clean

……

First published in Anti-Heroin Chic—thank you James Diaz, editor.
Photos are of Son House and Woody Guthrie