The South

The below excerpt was posted as Andrea Gibson's status on Facebook. I thought it was really beautiful so I wanted to share. Enjoy

I used to live in New Orleans. I followed a girl there. We met on a road trip in Wyoming. We fell in love wearing hunting hats. We were both vegetarians. I was with her in Flagstaff, Arizona the first time she saw snow. She was with me in New Orleans the first time I saw a boy glue bottle caps to the bottom of his shoes and tap dance like he was chasing the hurricane that filled his grandpa’s

shot glass. I drank like a fish back then. I hadn’t found poetry yet. At least, I hadn’t found its voice box. I thought poetry was a quiet thing. I thought I could write poems in coffee shops. I thought the train was something that would find me. I hadn’t learned to hop. I worked with a guy who drank like a shark. He called my girlfriend my “old lady.” She was 24. We were so in love I gained 30 pounds. I couldn’t stop smiling. I had an old bike and a lawnmower and a radish garden. I knew nothing about politics. I knew a little about my tender heart. In the south, you never stop sweating. In the south, people hug you like you’re worth holding on to. I’m in the south tonight. People have been hugging me like I’m worth holding on to. I’ve been hugging them back the exact same way. Feels right.