Memaw writes on the back of each photo
like she wants to make sure we always remember
where we came from and who we are.
In the one you’re holding, you smile beside a wet carcass
of fur, slick organs and glinting eyes
while brothers and uncles in camouflage spit
sunflower seeds on the ground or clean pocketknives
on pants legs to slice apples and guide
weepy hunks up to their mouths. It is early.
Mother and the peas in the garden are still asleep.