Poetry

White Elephants

Atop the distant trickle
of the willow river
mustard and auburn leaves float.
The sun reaches
into the cemetery
where the Confederacy are,
sunk in unkempt grass and
the occasional Skittles wrapper.
The sinking light peaks
from behind the cotton swabs,
warming a swarthy dog that cuddles
gravestone, sleeping
to the sound of river,
dreaming without the
burden of collar or past.