Elephant Grass

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In the evening, the lonely tractors near our house
smell cold, and remind me of money that goes clink clink clink,
and that place daddy takes the car on quiet sunny mornings.

I pull myself up the side and climb unto the broken leather chair.
The wheel is as big as a mountain you can pinch from far away.

Up. Down. Left. Right.

The stick does not listen, but the round ball feels smooth
like mommy’s dress.

Up. Down. Left. Right.

Don’t mess with me ‘cause I can run you over.

The grass in the distance is so tall
they call it elephant. Elephant grass.

Don’t walk in elephant grass at night! Snakes will find you!

I am afraid of snakes, and so are chickens,
but I saw a chicken die once.
Daddy took a knife to its throat and sliced it sideways.

It melted like butter.

One afternoon, I saw what a rock did to a man’s head.
He was naked on the side of the road with his arms stretched out like Jesus.

No one cried the way mommy cries sometimes,
but she doesn’t know I see her through my fingers.

Fireflies fill the air like mist.
Their tiny bellies flicker in the cool air,
and I know it’s time to go home.

 

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