Spirits at the Edge of Bayonet Woods

Crabgrass thickens, and catalpas bloom gigantic, hoping to hide our homestead, the poverty and grime that kept us mired here for generations, as if we were sleeping                                                        off a bender for one hundred years. Sooty hankies against our mouths, in the kitchen chicken spitting in the fryer, thick smoke rising, and we’re in the […]