to pick up shattered pieces of me

an indian summer

deep in the heart of texas,

tyler—

home where my daddy was born

sitting on some old woman's porch

I remember yesteryears

and sad realities

that dropped by unannounced

and departed on a whim

without warning



they ask,

"what's wrong?"

but if I told the truth

no one would understand

so instead we sit

chop it up

to meaningless conversation

over a warm plate of cornbread, black eye peas

and greens





I stand steady

watching through the back door

scared that

the rain might...