"My Knoxville"

by Black Atticus

my knoxville 
is a black bear 
wandering outside
the birdhouse  
an open mic night  
that just might conjure
the right words out, 

a place some heard about 
met and then stayed 
like sassy ann strays
it's a good ways from perfect, 
…a pub crawl from worth it

a blue sun setting between 
it’s bell towers & churches
from 4th gill to merchants
4th down and urgent
its heart thumps a dusk
dawning into purpose
and i heard it: 

like a semi automatic
sunday service off rifle range

with earnest aims
to accept things 
it can and can’t change, 

like the outcome of the games
or fellini kroger and all that strange,
it has no say how often
that smokey mountain range
will play backdrop
to our best and worst days
or know when it’ll entertain
sunsets that take our breath away

but it can forge  it’s own lane

it can preserve and proclaim
can look at what’s wrong these days
and refuse to remain the same

my knoxville starts with names
like fanny & annie mae,
betty, hot, & bootjack 
loops back to to past pre-k
when willie stabbed my hand
with a #2 pencil in the hallway
 
it’s a wayward dj’s fingerprints
reeking of old record 
it’s a scrapbook of focus,
sharpies and feathers,
a i tell ya: 
if you've never seen
a ‘goose down’ polaroid of forever, 
it truly gets no better;

my knoxville
is a vintage pop up professor
in leopard print peacoat 
measured in leather
it’s  used and new
it’s broke yet cool, 
it’s scruffy yet smooth

my knoxville
is a bartender 
who keeps a harmonica 
in her back pocket
ready to face the blues
that swoons in the baseline
of every kentucky mule

it shimmers off  
zeus’ jewels, 
& zenni glasses,

it's got kids, a mortgage 
and pays property taxes 

it takes night classes
works second & third shift,
has a day job, and a side gig,
and somehow found time to spin
its way into a shout out 
in a tarantino’s film;

my city glides passed that sting of pride,

to find itself, as maker city 
exchanging jokes and laughs
on a tiny stages,

my city laughs like augustus,
raps like shuler, fights like zo, 
slams like rage; 
its the return of daniel roop 
with a troop and family 

is an art scene 
collectively deserving 
of a grammy

my knoxville
calls grandma and grandpa, 
memaw and papaw,

it's brandon gibsons voice
echoing through our halls

its the invisible ampersand
between oliver and beatrice

it's a wild love coffee line
stretching beyond mid-mod

my city transitions
as if a transmission 
lived in it’s sunset 

rhythm
& rocky top;

my knoxville
is bob booker
singing karaoke
to its knees
at marie's

its donald byrds
fingers blurring
over 88 keys,

it’s a knock kneed
vintage spree
sprouting
from its holler

it's a penny
for a thought
worth fifty
more dollars

my cherry street
still blooms,
my knoxville

is you.