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…