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South of Cape Girardeau, the Ozarks Mountains rise~ blue-green and breathing, their gentle ridges holding summer’s heat the way old places keep stories. Below them, the Mississippi moves with that slow, unhurried power, a wide silver muscle sliding past the bluffs as if time itself were drifting downstream. And I remember standing there~ a girl on the edge of two immensities, the mountains behind me, the river before me, learning how a place can shape the way a heart grows up. This poem is the introductory poem to a chapter (Summer in Missouri) in my book of memoirs (Shoebox Chronicles)
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