What, Why, How: Sarah Carson

What: 

This neighborhood, our boulevards, neighbor boys’ whose long legs count cement stoops, whose daddies warm motorcycles on the driveway, whose mommas can’t leave their card tables, tell these men to ride along. South of the mailboxes, the box elder tree, the box truck now half empty, there was no justice but one solder burn, one pen knife. Momma held us to her thigh as warning. What is a trailer park anyway if not a tire fire, burning barrel? A mirror where the bed fit. The way a sl...