Vultures
They pick your carcass until nothing is left.
You were vulnerable and available.
They encircled you. They sailed around your body –
Rotten, once a beauty with flowing feathers
until they started picking them off, one by one.
First during sun, then at dark.
You tried to hide, you tried to redirect.
They rejected it all.
They only want you; they torment you.
Stuck like glue, to you and only you.
Vultures.
Driving down Wesley Russell road in Farmerville.
Dirt roads meander, memories form –
sweet blackberries, persimmons, figs, dandelion necklaces.
I remember asking Biggy what happened to my pet chicken
as we dined on crisp drumsticks for lunch and dumplings
for dinner. Peanut butter or ice cream for dessert –
depending on if Uncle Shug wanted to take his red Pickup
down the road. He worked so hard. Loved so hard.
Elders forever touch souls, pave ways. Toil and persevere
for our fortune, burgeoning with pride. I know they look
down, delighting in progress. We stand on their shoulders.
They lifted us. Hydrangeas, well water, mud pies and
watermelon. Memories. Welded for eternity. We are them.