they knew I was taking/which is to say they posed for me:/both with their bottom teeth jutting/out over their chins/like a 1966 Ford Thunderbird/taking off of a precipice/

papaw’s hand is over mamaw’s shoulder/his knuckles are/knotted by arthritis/(which he calls Arthur/who he calls a friend)/and the rest of his hands are roughened/from a childhood of setting, stripping, and hanging tobacco

mamaw’s laugh can’t be/contained by the picture/it is change rattling in a too large/leather purse   it is/the every-once-in-awhile squeak/of a metal grocery cart

I’m talking about them like they’re dead/though they aren’t/yet/but while we’re here:/I want them to go together—/meet the good lord hand-in-hand/and I want Him put on a pot of coffee/serve it to them in peddler’s mall mugs/while he tells them the reason for letting/the neighbor’s chickens/cross the creek into/their yard/all the while I’m looking through papaw’s bible for/an answer/the good book can’t answer:/what will I do without them?

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Adrian Sanders is a full-time creative writing major at Western Kentucky University, part-time book slinger, and social media intern for The Field Office. Her work has appeared in Jelly Bucket, Red Mud Review, and Lemon Star Mag. When she is not reading or writing, you can find her skating with Vette City Roller Derby. Find Adrian on twitter @adrianbreanna.