My Town the Size of Walls
This is, and is not, my grandfather's home. No mountains
color our horizons. No hawk song welcomes the aging
orange of sun. No buffalo know this land. Stars entertain
our nights. Rains do not stay gone long. We walk
on repaved streets. We spoil like untreated meat
left among sun and flies. Forests of loblolly
pines border our town limits. The sign shines
bright green, limbs curtaining its edges. No one
builds toward God's floor here. We pray to own
a neighbor‟s house, bear children twirling batons
and expect they will have a better future than
we can imagine.
This poem originally appeared in Plain Spoke (2009), Cantaraville (2010) and is included in The Mattress Parlor (Scribble Fire Press, 2011).