So more will blossom beside the trailers next year,
the dahlia bulbs need to be dug and spread.
People here say they are going to the house
and drive back to their doublewides.
Home is made by repairing piers for lot rent.
Made by the cucumber and squash
that bridge well beyond their beds.
No one pays for muscadines, they’re for jelly.
Watch that sun-burnt kid. She dips paper boats in motor oil,
drops them in the lake to see them spin in ever-widening circles.
Dahlias swing, shovels dig their bulbs. Home is made
as the pressure cooker whistles through a singlewide.
Made under that throng of willow flies,
where piers hammer us to this drift of blossoms.
Leave a Reply