I wanted a shade tree with the checked tablecloth. Pulled chicken and corn on the cob- the old tree that we used to sit under. Mom would say “check-ed.” Someone corrects her but it’ll never stick. That property owner in the back corner of the pasture- burying his slave and money in the steamy King Cotton south. Those stars at night that are big and bright. Nights out in the hay pasture, straws sticking in our backs. Itchy but home. We used to play Batman on those bales.
Gotham was the ground.
Texas sage blooming purple at the entrance. Its gonna rain today. That slave haunts our land, rolling over the terraced pasture. We pulled the calf that day. The first time I’ve seen the miracle that they call life. We rode horses all day- just jumping on in the pasture. Bareback. Racing. Loping. Till she stumbled and went down.
Snickers was her name.
We had church at home. We sang the songs and said prayers for rain. Katie had to get stitches that time. Matt had been practicing nailing on the tree. The nail ripped her skin when she reached up for that last peach. I saw it. I saw her skin open and bleeding out.
She still has the scar.
That horse chased me into the barn. I jumped on the gate and the nail stabbed into my knee. I walked home, later poured blood out of my boot. My friend thought the squeaky board in the hallway led to the hole that the slave was buried in- but that floor was put in on a slab the year before. I used to hunt birds in the morning before school. I aimed at a black bird, I took the stroke with my index and with the sharp pop of the gun, the bird landed on the ground. It was foggy that day. I saw the blue feathers laying on the ground.
Blue birds were Mom’s favorite.
I had a favorite creek, quiet and slow- my favorite place. Cold from the spring. I’d tuck my toes in the water and make the slow waterfall run faster. I found the dog in it during winter. The dog that had been around the longest. One of the only times I’ve seen Dad cry was shoveling dirt on top of the bag that held her. The prairie sky was wide a high. We used to stop and swim in the big creek behind the house.
It turned green and people got sick.
Cookies and sweat smelled like home- not like others. I burned my first batch of brownies. I had tried hard- I forgot to set the timer. I wanted that picnic- the wicker basket and unspilled kool-aid.
Mom still says “check-ed.”
Gotham was the ground.
Texas sage blooming purple at the entrance. Its gonna rain today. That slave haunts our land, rolling over the terraced pasture. We pulled the calf that day. The first time I’ve seen the miracle that they call life. We rode horses all day- just jumping on in the pasture. Bareback. Racing. Loping. Till she stumbled and went down.
Snickers was her name.
We had church at home. We sang the songs and said prayers for rain. Katie had to get stitches that time. Matt had been practicing nailing on the tree. The nail ripped her skin when she reached up for that last peach. I saw it. I saw her skin open and bleeding out.
She still has the scar.
That horse chased me into the barn. I jumped on the gate and the nail stabbed into my knee. I walked home, later poured blood out of my boot. My friend thought the squeaky board in the hallway led to the hole that the slave was buried in- but that floor was put in on a slab the year before. I used to hunt birds in the morning before school. I aimed at a black bird, I took the stroke with my index and with the sharp pop of the gun, the bird landed on the ground. It was foggy that day. I saw the blue feathers laying on the ground.
Blue birds were Mom’s favorite.
I had a favorite creek, quiet and slow- my favorite place. Cold from the spring. I’d tuck my toes in the water and make the slow waterfall run faster. I found the dog in it during winter. The dog that had been around the longest. One of the only times I’ve seen Dad cry was shoveling dirt on top of the bag that held her. The prairie sky was wide a high. We used to stop and swim in the big creek behind the house.
It turned green and people got sick.
Cookies and sweat smelled like home- not like others. I burned my first batch of brownies. I had tried hard- I forgot to set the timer. I wanted that picnic- the wicker basket and unspilled kool-aid.
Mom still says “check-ed.”
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