By: Kristina England

and I drive to Arkansas, one of my quick-check bucket list states,
good enough to drive the Bayou but not to stop,
West Memphis a ghost town to my own churchless eyes
boarded up, crumbling, an unnatural disaster,
reminds me of the time I sat in a bus, watching Mexico pass
me by. Back then I was already turning my head
away from altars, hitching my prayers on quiet nights alone,
foolishly thinking myself less empty than
the last deserted home.