One Horse Town


and so what

if—disowned—this hometown


~


named after some other town &

spidered by streets named for


trees you’ve never seen


~


sounds like fire, now. like


~


flint spark plume. smother. escape. trying

to erase your name from the too-narrow

-one-lane entrance with your heel.

severed—


~


you’ve repeated to the morning mirror

—the thread. the past. the apples

that gripped your baby teeth, still

raining down.


~


in the garage, upside-down,

your old bicycle, wheels spinning along

an open road of air.


~


everything but your bones

a trespass. and your bones, too.

the map in your palm. and the flame.


~


and that one missing shingle,

all the unpainted interiors,


and the bones interred

a week before your return


~


and, finally, your return.


~


the rain, and moving through

the rain that same horse


you named after a king

who saw home even in

the furthest edges of the world


~


nuzzles up to the mound


as if smelling you in it.

Copyright © 1999-2017 Juked