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.