Book Review: Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia

Flight 664 had me agitated and bothered since the moment I’d arrived at the Phoenix/Mesa Gateway airport to board the dubious flight headed East to Grand Rapids, Michigan. Hungry and worried over the possibility that risky weather might reroute my flight to Texas or maybe even back to dusky Mesa, I grabbed a burrito, a cold sprite, and took a seat next to an older gentleman who rambled on endlessly about growing up in Tunica, Mississippi during the 40s and 50s. I spoke of my ambivalence with Detroit, but that, no matter what, I loved Detroit and it will always be home. “As a matter of fact,” I said to the elderly gentleman, “I’m headed that way now. Well, I’m gonna land in Grand Rapids, then drive on to Detroit from there.”After more talk on Mississippi and Detroit, the silver-haired fellow left and I pondered on the wonderful stories he’d shared, when all of a sudden it hit me! I had a review copy of Patricia Neely-Dorsey’s new book of poetry, Reflections of a Mississippi Magnolia: A Life in Poems, tucked in the side of my briefcase. 

I cautiously glanced out the plane window to see what was down there. Everything was small and getting smaller. We’d been in the air for about 40 minutes. The pilot told us that there was indeed a chance that we would have to return to Phoenix/Mesa Gateway airport if instructed to do so should the weather not clear by the time we reached Las Vegas. I told the preacher seated behind me to pray that we make it: “I gotta be in Detroit tomorrow morning for a book signing,” I said while placing my corduroy blazer over the back seat. “I’m praying, brother,” the preacher smilingly reassured. I reached above the preacher’s head into the overhead storage and rambled through my briefcase looking for Dorsey’s book to see if I’d want to continue reading it. I’d began the book just before I boarded but, by now (approximately 16 pages into the book), Dorsey’s poetry had did little to whet my appetite, and I longed for the moment when something explosive would strike my fancy, as well as take my mind off the fact that I was flying 33,000 feet in the air with no parachute strapped to my back…and a winter advisory warning – with minimum visibility – laying in wait as the plane floated on towards the grave abyss of blizzardly danger at a snowy Grand Rapids airport. 

I continued thumbing through Dorsey’s book while feeling somewhat 

ambivalent about what I’d read up to that point. By the middle of the book, it becomes clear that Dorsey’s nostalgic poetry reflects upon (and promotes) the goodness of Southern life and culture – even to the point of repetition and redundancy. For example, Sounds of Summer and Summer Night (Southern Style) really ought to have been one poem. Even Mississippi Morning is redundant and only revisits what has already been told. Interestingly, a few of Dorsey’s poems speak to some historical matters. One Room School and Right to Vote is quite impressive.

According to my marginalia, The Rules is good, but Country Breakfast seems like a repeat of a poem with a different name. Yardsaling is good; Soul Food Restaurant is interesting; A Country View is interesting; and my notes on page 19 questioned: “Didn’t she do this already on page 12?” Hog Killing Time and Slopping Hogs is essentially the same thing. 

At times, Dorsey’s reminiscent book reminded me of Zora Neale Hurston, and Paul Dunbar, seeming like odes or lyric poems on the beauty of Mississippi life, even. Sometimes the language is good, melodic, rhythmic, lyrical, and then it takes a turn for the worse. (Then there are moments when one wonders if we are reading Harriet Beecher Stowe.) 

I tried hard to focus on completing Dorsey’s book, but the weather took a turn for the worst and so I closed the book and stared out the window. There was nothing to see but wind and snow. There was no skyline, lights, or any sign of the runway. I was scared. I reopened Dorsey’s book to take my mind off the fact that this could very well be the last book I read. The chapter titled Family History is quite good, but not good enough to save the book. Country Doctor certainly plays on my own personal interest in history, yet, The Agnews seemed unfinished and unpolished. 

We began our descent into Grand Rapids airport and everyone on the plane looked worried and scared. Looking outside the window was like looking into a violent whirl of a blizzard storm.  I thought if I’d ever see my friends and family again. Then I returned to Dorsey’s book to read the last of the poems, Mississippi Magnolia. The plane’s wheels screeched the runway, the passengers clapped, and I read Dorsey’s last poem – the poem that saved the book: 

Home is where the heart is, 

That’s what they always say; 

Well, my heart is Mississippi’s, 

In the most profoundest way; 

It’s who I am, 

It’s what I like

It’s everything to me; 

A Mississippi Magnolia girl 

Is all I’ll ever be. 

Push Scale: 4/5