Balancing a croissant on one finger
I twirled my way through the leaves–
stepped on spurs, kicked acorns.
Many stretched their necks to the idea
of tracing dead girl in grass, chipping away
at each origami mystery but it made me
feel closer to home.
I know I am not supposed to talk
about confederate graves, flags, dirt,
but believe me when I say I’ve never
seen my outline clearer than I did
standing in the farmers market,
Dead white pageant queen,
black slave trade, rotting
plantation homes dressed up for Christmas,
tunnels calling to be touched—
this home is burning.
I can feel it through my shoes.