I am ninth generation and by some measures, tenth. DNA services
have edited my results. So I take the long branch to paste it elsewhere.
The small part of the world I derive from is working on its own set
of problems. I seek my redneck genealogy, the hicks in the country,
anybody good or present. They farm and I take their cornstalks.
I dig up each of the squash and I bring them to the kitchen. Beans
I begin to boil. Hominy straight to the simmering pot. Frantic cooking
in the face of my theft. Thinking of the next parcel of land. Ecological
desperation. Feed mills to be raided for the pets. Chickens to cut loose
from their cages. Praying for lightning and knowing it's all over. Nailing
boards to keep away people and dust. A pure, unfathomable meal.
Sustenance for my children. Electricity in the meantime. We are here and
we've always been here. I convince myself it’s time to eat. The skin is ravishing.
Brett Salsbury is a native Kansan who currently lives in Lawrence, Kansas. His creative work has most recently appeared in Causeway Lit, The Poet's Billow, and Posit, among other journals. A graduate of the MFA program at UNLV, he has also served as a writer-in-residence at Sundress Academy for the Arts. He is currently a PhD student at the University of Kansas and a reader for LandLocked Magazine.