My Cousin Calls

My Cousin Calls My cousin, Sonny calls and his voice sounds
like it’s wrapped in a soft cotton blanket woven
only in the Deep South. His accent is like my grandmother, Mae’s, Marie’s
and all the rest of the brothers and sisters. That sound, as soothing as honey, is the
only family link I have left. We talk about his father, my mother
and other ancestors we can call up. We talk about when we were children and Paid no attention to the older ones
whose knowledge was not a secret.
It was open to anyone who’d ask. We had no interest in who was who
and how they fit into our relative’s pasts. We were young and interested
in our own youthful lives. But Sonny and I fill in one an other’s gaps
while we long for just one day spent
at the old family home with curiosity in our hearts.

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