Tall Grass by Amanda Crum

As the town bakes we
take turns riding on the handlebars, weak breeze
ruffling hair like a fatherly hand.

Mother by Amanda Crum

It can’t have been easy, growing up in that house on the hill.

Night of the Living Dead by Ace Boggess

Image Ten, et al., 1968

I’ve always thought graveyards the best place to begin,
like the one my young aunt & I played in as children: