Back Road Dream to the Home I Keep Forgetting
1 Minute Read Time
Sapello sky open as a first breath filled pink
with tomorrow’s weather mismatched fence
posts splintering into Ys those warped bodies embalmed
with winter the wind moves in summer skeletons
of alfalfa turned tumble -weed patches and pine branches
recite mariachi music whistled by ancestors shuffling
playing cards around a home -made graveyard
in the field behind the trailer abandoned elk
bones and sheds from old hunts scatter under the fallen
needles of Fragoso Ridge pines dogs chained to a balding
trailer hitch they wallow waxing holes into the thin vinyl
of mobile home skirting barn cats morning screams
refrigerator scraps cold pintos once pressure
cooked and salted a wounded owl top of a telephone pole a crucifix
its blood-dipped talons dried calls electrified dead
cells crossing live wires a fractured
family glued together in a single wide white car parked in a black
-out forgotten ride home I’m idling still trying to sleep
off a childhood before walking back inside
Read more from Issue 19.2.
