As If You Were Mine

 I write about love 

As if you were mine 

You are not of course, you belong to the south 

To long brown hair, braided, and anointed 

You belong to the thick heat and the long grass

To swinging moss and a wife and bible sermons and good roots 

I belong to the west 

To the California salt and red stone 

I belong to a wild man and too much weed 

To the purple rocks and cloth tents 

And free thinking evil and big doubts 

I tried to change one time 

Tried to highlight my verses, dog ear the pages 

Sit rigid, praise the Lord, join a study, wear a cross 

I tried 

But I won't ever be much of a Baptist or a still woman 

I figure, if you're gonna believe

Then jump the purple rocks and start shouting 

Overturn the tents, lick the salt, sing and dance and move 

Be wickedly holy, be wickedly excited 

If I could, I'd rip you from Georgia, from Tennessee 

I would, but it's not my place and it's not your desire 

And so I let it be, the space I mean, I keep the space wide 

I keep the land between us, and I let the red stone and the salt

Keep growing as you watch those braids get long 

Till they're nipping at your heals, till she's hushing you in church 

Figure if you ever get serious

Somehow you'll make your way back to the mountain top 

And find your lungs, find a voice 

And yet maybe I should be moving to the south 

Be getting quiet, be getting still 

Becoming a woman of the faith, obedient, and bowing 

I tried.