by Cheyenne Dakota Williams\n<\/p>\n
There is a house along the river that
\nno one can notice. Acres of land,
\nwe drive to your estate that’s secondhand
\nand stilted above the shore. You entrapped
\nme with promises of the Tunica intact,
\nbut this French surname I don’t understand.
\nI pluck and crush magnolias with my hands
\nto ignore the moss that my hair amassed.
\nI walk to the river each night in search
\nof the scutes submerged in their nocturnal.
\nYou hear my splashes as I wade heap deeper,
\npulling me out from my propensive lurch
\nas you slap me out of my infernal
\nsubconscious. I awake where no one hears.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cheyenne Dakota Williams is a Din\u00e9 poet originally from Virginia. Her work has been featured in Poetry Magazine, Chapter House Journal<\/em>, and Saw Palm: Florida Literature & Art.<\/em> She is an AWP Tribal Colleges & Universities Fellow, a Tin House scholar, and winner of the Frederick Bock Prize.<\/p>\n
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