i was
two
going
on
eternity
using twenty five cent
words
still new
enough to remember
the peace
from whence
i came
perhaps i was
trying to find my
way back
to smoke
rising
from a
previous village
little free spirits
don’t know not to
play in corn fields
like a breeze
miniature bare feet
run so quickly
away from
the farm house
with dad’s
white picnic table
under
the big
tree
uncle louis
hung himself from
i
was gone
all day
my
yellow dress
dirty
from cooking
mud pies
as i
emerge
from
the field
to the
torch bearing
search party
i announce
unassuming
unaware of pending
milk carton portraits
the
corn’s
coming
up