uncut grass houses the little white blossoms
we used to tie together into chains
we trace our sketches in the sandy dirt
of a vacant baseball field
dusty sacks slap cornhole boards
the ping of a baseball echoes off it’s tee
neighborhood wind chimes are blown into a distant twinkle

a kentucky summer, so characteristic of the appalachian livin’ i’m trying to move the world against

now, the weeds unfurl onto my unshaved legs
dirt coats the kicked over beer bottle next to my converse,
a dirty maroon to match my dyed hair
smoke curls out from between my fingers

how far away i am from that little girl
who was trapped in the fences of suffocating rules

is the illusion of simpler times enough to justify blatant oppression?