Like a boomerang
I want to go back
where my childhood house
used to shine,
a gathering place
for cousins who wore
the hot days slowly.
My aunt’s bulldog yapped,
aware of something
near the old graveyard
near the massive pine
near the power line
near the fenced chickens
that clucked all the time
just because they could
with cloud-colored wings
flapping the way to roost.