.
.
Out
“Where you folks headin’ to?” The man who could be any man leans
into the window just far enough to take full note of Milta’s red
hair and my flickering white skin. He has unseen guns
pressed up against his body; he is at once more American than we are.
Milta is a Cherokee name. Her ancestors had been marched west
to Oklahoma, where she was born after a few rounds
of intermixing with redheaded Scottish pioneers. She knows
how a story is constructed, knows too the pleasure in telling a lie.
Bio:
Kat Dixon is poetry editor of Divine Dirt Quarterly and author of four chapbooks, most recently DON'T GO FISH (Maverick Duck Press) and BIRDING (Thunderclap Press). She can be found online at katdixon.blogspot.com.
(author retains copyright)
.
Out
“Where you folks headin’ to?” The man who could be any man leans
into the window just far enough to take full note of Milta’s red
hair and my flickering white skin. He has unseen guns
pressed up against his body; he is at once more American than we are.
Milta is a Cherokee name. Her ancestors had been marched west
to Oklahoma, where she was born after a few rounds
of intermixing with redheaded Scottish pioneers. She knows
how a story is constructed, knows too the pleasure in telling a lie.
Bio:
Kat Dixon is poetry editor of Divine Dirt Quarterly and author of four chapbooks, most recently DON'T GO FISH (Maverick Duck Press) and BIRDING (Thunderclap Press). She can be found online at katdixon.blogspot.com.
(author retains copyright)
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