Walking My Dog Past the Train Tracks

Accompanying audio file to listen to while reading.
Voice recording of author reciting poem.

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,

drinking kombucha.

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.