Sherman's Footsteps

a white porch swing, a gentle june breeze, and railing shadows like prison bars. ladies with their umbrellas up to protect their perfect skin, arms gripped by gentlemen, strolling past the necktie trees.

days stretching into spun out nights, growing into the glorious devotion that is supper. a glassy-eyed deer with holes in its heart provided by daddy dearest, blessed and devoured with silver forks, blood patted away with mama's finest linen.

retire to the silk sheets made by hands unknown, teeth brushed with tea, so sweet it stings. eyes closed; don't listen to the cicadas scream. a flag outside, frozen in time, waves with our pride, and i waver in mine.