Nathan Parker

 

 

Arkansas, or Epistemology

 

Once upon a time

my grandma Crystal-Nay

eased into her

 

cracked leather boots,

sprayed the crud

off her garden hoe

 

& rode out to meet

the family of rattlesnakes

corrupting

 

the soft blacktop

my grandpa, Clyde, former

buyer for Sears,

 

poured in the woods.

She rode back

victorious. The red

 

birds who needed her

for seeds & clean water

sang an old hymn --

 

I considered their point

from the cedar gazebo

my dad built,

 

slurping a root-beer

float my mom didn’t

know about.

 

At sundown,

one rattlesnakehead

was still twitching…

 

I tried it on.

 

 

 

Devorah Baum

Adachioma Ezeano

A. C. Grayling

Rebecca Priestley