Five, four, three, two, one
we made it to now.
The Abbeville train depot where time began
a stop for drummers to beat their wares
history to have time’s sharper reference.
We all became slaves when the whistle blew and the stationmaster
consulted his watch, but history is told by those who won.
The oaks have heard it all.
Time and the great pyromaniac
(as the man who impersonates Jefferson Davis calls him)
marched around them.
They heard the secession call.
Did they see a Black man hanging from a limb?
History and time hollow out a soul, so when the storms came
they didn’t fight. The wind snapped at the empty core.
The Davis doppelganger carves them now,
a certificate of heritage with each bowl
or carved rib, Adam’s worst nightmare.
Was it any surprise then, as the pyrotechnics
awoke us in celebration of the New Year,
that the fireworks lit your eyes and I whispered,
“we made it to now”?