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  • Writer's pictureLammergeier Staff

Ode to My Childhood Yard I Constantly Write About | James Rosser

I drag Georgia behind me like a bridal train

in some muddied trawl across the verse’d mountains.

This red mud ain’t like blood at all: this

kudzu can’t choke me up. This flood

out back behind the closed down Badcock’s,

where the cattails sprout from a drainage pond,

where the shopping cart rusts and peeks out,

cannot wash away the stones I carry with me.

What hope can I have to run from a south

that sprawls forever and outgrows me?

There is a patch of moss I lost in the foreclosure

and it hides the fool’s gold I peeled it back to hide.

When I dream about apples, they are crab apples:

all rose bushes grow alone on a small hill:

there are two fig trees facing each other in the empty

yards in my mouth, and they let any ant crawl up

inside the fruit that falls from my tongue.

James Rosser is a Nonbinary writer from Cedartown, Georgia. They also like to write about weird video games and listen to angry bluegrass. Their favorite tree is the Flowering Dogwood.

Twitter: @JLR_III



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