archives, poetry

I Met a Woman from Alabama. {poetry}

There are many poems of romance and connection, of girl meets girl, human connects with human. This poem is about a thread spun between two people, but it tells a much larger story of the human narrative.

It is about that universal desire for a new beginning of peace and creation. It is about travels — yes, from one place to another, a move. It is about risk, fear, hope, health, illness, the joy of possibility. 

This poem contains a snowstorm, a long drive in unknown, untracked space. Eventually, this poem will be followed by another poem, a story of a disaster following crossing a Southern State line. It will evolve into a tragedy of false police discrimination based on mental health disability, of the severe physical and psychological damage and harm caused by this mistreatment and life-altering injustice.

Tragedy, though, in this life, however, often has a tail, a stretching of light across the dark sky. There is another chance for redemption through faith and friends who literally keep you alive.

Much of that is for the next telling. In this poem, one woman meets another, a journey begins, snow falls. A poet wonders if she can write in a voice with another accent, live in a culture so far from the inner city from where she starts. Laughter and life reign, however briefly.


I met a woman from Alabama somewhere during this move.
I don’t know where Alabama really is, that is the truth
But she said she was an artist, and her fingers had paint all over them.
I know ’cause she showed me.
She kept calling me sister, which might be an Alabama thing. God, if I know.
She paints, but she wants to write
I just want to go to sleep
The world is on a tilt
What is with these giant decisions?
Not the Do you want beef or chicken for dinner?
But the Do you want to live in the South and date someone who calls you sister?
Have I mentioned I am tired?
They had storms in Alabama
And I found myself worrying about my artist friend.
She texted me, thinking I would worry.

How did we get here so fast?

I finally got out the damn map of the South

She likes my poems, so that is something
Also my blue hair and eyes
When did I start spinning like this?
“You wanted a change,” says that voice
That nags you.
I just want to sit.
I don’t know if I want to try and write with a Southern voice.
And as for the Alabama artist,
maybe if I sleep awhile through this snowstorm that halts me in a
Shenandoah motel,
I will be clearer.
She texted 10 times last night,
“Ease up, sister.”


Marie Turco is a poet residing in TN who branches off into prose and prose poems. Honestly, poet is the word that best defines her. Trying to cut out the distractions as much as possible but needing to pay rent, she is also a psychotherapist.


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