Country Nights

Stiff, pastel sheets and a fuzzy,
plum blanket would try their hardest
to keep me warm from the nighttime's country breeze
every time I would sleep over at my Grandma's house.

She would snugly tuck me in
after reading my favorite story where Mickey,
Donald, Goofy, and Pluto got lost
in a haunted house,
only to find out the ghosts that were spooking them
were just ordinary men
in skeleton costumes.

After a quick kiss on my warm forehead,
she lifted the heavy window,
which chipped little flakes of colonial yellow paint
uncovering the aging hardwood underneath,
to help the attic fan pull in more of the Star City draft
through the screen which cicada shells stuck too.

When all the lights in the other rooms were out,
and the faint chatter of Kenneth Copeland
on the living room television was off,
I stared out the window thinking
of epic battles between the stars;
I would always be Perseus,
slaying snake-haired women
and the gigantic ram, Aries.

I would watch the lights blinking
on the radio tower and the strobe
coming from the airport,
as it became visible just over the thicket
of pine trees across Highway 11
every few seconds,
whirring continuously throughout the night;
but I pretended it was all just coming from
a secret base of alien's letting out
a signal to tell the others where to meet them;
but I was Perseus
...and I was not scared.

After mythological battles and alien takeovers,
my eyes would squint as the sun slowly decided
to creep up over Old Man Jones' house behind the garden
of sweet potatoes and collard greens,
as I heard Jimmy the rooster let out his call,
letting us all know it was time to start our day,
while my sweet Grandma would crack open
a fresh, brown-shelled egg from the coop
over a hot cast-iron skillet.