Years ago, when I first came to America in the fall of 1971, I lived in Harlan, Kentucky—nestled in the Appalachian Mountains, where country roads curve and climb, but life moved slowly.
It was one of the poorest counties in the country, but the people all wore hearts of gold.
I would walk down Main Street often, learning the rhythm of a place, so different from my Jerusalem streets. I learned faces before names, kind eyes before language which felt like home.
But one name—one beautiful face—stood out, right there at the A&P checkout counter, ringing up bread and canned beans like she was keeping the world in order.
Toothless Tammy.
A smile without apology, raspy voice and a belly laugh that didn’t ask permission. Life worn on her face like a map, but her spirit bubbled with youth and life.
She married a local boy, and every time I saw her she would tell me her story—every time like the first time—how they met, how much she loved her Tommy, and he loved her.
This is for her.
❤️
My name is Toothless Tammy
I come from Tennessee
my man is big ol’ Tommy
and he’s in love with me.
Tommy drives a pickup
so shinin’ red n’ proud
he may look big and scary
but I boss him right out loud.
Oh Tommy, Tommy baby,
he knows I run the show
he loves to squeeze his Tammy
every place we go.
My name is Toothless Tammy
I sip me sweet cold tea
and ride them Harlan backroads
with Tommy next to me.
Sometimes he drives me crazy
so I just up and leave
but then he comes to fetch me
with his heart right on his sleeve.
Oh Tommy, Tommy baby
so hot in his blue jeans—
he wolfs down two whole burgers
with fries and chili beans.
Oh Tommy, Tommy baby,
he fits me like a glove
He may not be so perfect
but he’s my real’ true love.
*
©Yakira Shimoni Fulks
March 15, 2018| OC, California
