Today's poem is by Andrew Cox

Birmingham Points to Little Rock
       

As if the Mason-Dixon Line were a glass ceiling my parents flapped their wings as if they were storks carrying babies into the shattering limit

After Birmingham has its fifteen minutes of fame it points to Little Rock and says all hail the king of white teenagers who hiss the unsayable word

My parents and the bags they packed headed into the quicksand horizon fueled by the cliché named longing for something better

After Birmingham Little Rock calls back its children into the insane sound of cicadas and the river that waits for the next one to jump from the bridge

As if they were one of the seven great themes of literature my parents looked into each other's eyes and saw the bees swarm a hospital room

After Birmingham curls into its mother's lap and licks its wounds sleep descends and covers it in a dew called Little Rock

My parents did not know they were caught in a play in which lines were written by the early morning hoots of a great horned owl

After Birmingham Little Rock tells story after pitiful story on the porch built out of its stray dogs and driftwood

As if organ music vexed their ears my parents and their respective halos sang the hymns only they understood

After Birmingham has its legs taken out from under it Little Rock begins to strut as if it were the next city to kill a president

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Copyright © 2023 Andrew Cox All rights reserved
from Twelve Mile Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission