bluebonnets
like holding a book up to look at a tree i saw you
standing in bluebonnets just north of fort worth
and the umbrella you held dropped like asshole ralph
like eyelids like hopes in east texas like you
want me to drop everything sometimes i do
but sometimes i just need my fucking pictures
in cellophane preserved with little light
to damage them i could just drop them
like sears tower pennies like new york pigeons
like lee oswald's rifle like marilyn’s panties
tissue paper wrapped flowers rub against one
another. like a bacon-eating pig i saw you there
standing in bluebonnets just north of fort worth
wasn’t raining. your umbrella broke in hand
and you cried. when did you start crying? when
you held me? my little oshkosh overalls grass-
stained. my ex-fiancée started crying
a year ago. she asked me what she looked like
i ran out of the room screaming
bluebonnets bluebonnets bluebonnets
Sister
Two trees growing together
under the shadow
of fort worth texas
and we are in the yard
we watch in the yard
as the holy hot bird feeder
is rattled to the earth
and the trees shoot skyward
taking tire swings with them
that smash together
—it’s a makeshift eight
and a swarm of bluebirds
plume the sky
like they can fly enough
to eclipse our mother
standing above us with
hands like bluebonnets
that dart and sway
in the flat land wind
we sit bull on the lawn
clockhands in three
separate dots
and we watch
C.T. McGaha is a writer from Charlotte, NC. His work has been previously published in Gambling the Aisle, Haunted Waters' Press' From the Depths, and Crab Fat Literary Magazine. When he's not writing, he's driving down Central Avenue, blasting Outkast's "Aquemini."