coming home for the census

sure, we went bloat-eyed and buzzy

when the neighbors down rawl road waged

war with each other—christened their property

line the two-way gates of heaven and built

that barbed-wire fence to keep each other out,

but that’s old news.

the iga’s stocking dairy-free yogurt

now. dogs and coyotes keep going at it in ditches.

even the seraphim living down in the trailer

park bought a new american flag for their window,

six-winged bodies bursting with life

whenever the gamecocks pull through with the win.

you know what this is:

the departure and undeparture, ms mary asking

how’ve you been, honey and all the fresh-baked

bread in the county wrapped in wax paper

and baling twine.

i think i’m finally falling into like with the things

i can’t change. say blackwater. say deus ex machina.

say glock 42 with bubblegum on the trigger.

on saturday the neighbors peeled a doe out

of the fence, first body of sacrifice,

and i recite every vacation bible school song

that makes me feel home-bodied.

still, the astounding lack of street lights

turns our night sky into a halfway heaven,

and i think about you every time i pass sunflower fields.

translation:

this is not a poem about sad things.

this is a poem for movement.