I wrote this to a prompt to describe the place I’m from. I have lived many places but this little town now feels like home.
just a vibrant Main Street,
temple-form courthouse
on the corner of Main
and Center,
once the seat of law,
both justice and injustice
the Southern norm.
There are shops
etched in memory and time:
a small grocery
known for its pimento cheese,
an Army-Navy store
more rural than military,
a hardware shop
with items on shelves
covered in dust
since the sixties.
The newer shops come and go,
purveyors of current trends
in fashion, décor,
and mood-soothing gummies.
Eateries and cafes
open their doors with the hope
that the food will be enough
when it’s southern hospitality
that will grow their roots.
A two-minute drive through,
in one end and out the other,
robs the visitor of opportunity.
Painted pigs are best
viewed up close.
Long-forgotten candies
are more delicious
when unwrapped
by small eager hands
as parents snack on
donuts glazed in maple
with bacon sprinkles.
This mill town has evolved,
remnants of an industrial past
now housing seating
for weekend music
and slow sips of beer.
Elvis once sang here.
An artist’s illustration
shows a future of multi-purpose
spaces near a new railroad station,
the idea for growth now realized
in tract houses built in every open field,
a worrisome pipeline,
whispers of a data center.
Still, businesses and people
come and go
without touching the true heart
of this small town.
The pig endures-
smoked and chopped,
served with red slaw and crinkle-cut fries.
Forever and always:
Lexington, the Barbecue Capital
of the World.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-03-12 at 20:05
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I Am From
No charming square-just a vibrant Main Street,
temple-form courthouse
on the corner of Main
and Center,
once the seat of law,
both justice and injustice
the Southern norm.
There are shops
etched in memory and time:
a small grocery
known for its pimento cheese,
an Army-Navy store
more rural than military,
a hardware shop
with items on shelves
covered in dust
since the sixties.
The newer shops come and go,
purveyors of current trends
in fashion, décor,
and mood-soothing gummies.
Eateries and cafes
open their doors with the hope
that the food will be enough
when it’s southern hospitality
that will grow their roots.
A two-minute drive through,
in one end and out the other,
robs the visitor of opportunity.
Painted pigs are best
viewed up close.
Long-forgotten candies
are more delicious
when unwrapped
by small eager hands
as parents snack on
donuts glazed in maple
with bacon sprinkles.
This mill town has evolved,
remnants of an industrial past
now housing seating
for weekend music
and slow sips of beer.
Elvis once sang here.
An artist’s illustration
shows a future of multi-purpose
spaces near a new railroad station,
the idea for growth now realized
in tract houses built in every open field,
a worrisome pipeline,
whispers of a data center.
Still, businesses and people
come and go
without touching the true heart
of this small town.
The pig endures-
smoked and chopped,
served with red slaw and crinkle-cut fries.
Forever and always:
Lexington, the Barbecue Capital
of the World.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-03-12 at 20:05
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