Going Home for Christmas
Cassandra de Alba

I am back in high school.
I am in someone’s mother’s minivan,
smoking weed out of a tinfoil pipe.
Around here, everything is named
after what it wiped out. Cornfield Road.
Indian Plaza. The Fox Run Mall. The trucks
have back-window Confederate flags,
jokes about farm equipment:
a decal of a Caterpillar
over “I look good on a ho.”
New Year’s Day I woke up cold feet,
Jason trying to fix the door,
keep the winter out.

Return to Archive