These Boots Were Made For

I’m one southern motherfucker

All brokeback and broken teeth,

Spitshine and jagged mouth—

I whip-crack the sun at breakfast,

hoe,

I admit, on the Frontier

I might not have lived very happily

(or very long)

All that showdown throwdown

Would’ve kept me cheek-to-cheek with dirt,

Spine sparking ground like lasso

(it’s hard to herd

a flame)

Truth is,

I’m not my ancestors,

Or my mama,

Too polite to mold a red-clay cuss

Over a rattlesnake of a tongue

I spit,

you shine, shoot twice,

Every man within fifty miles

Would’ve had a bone to pick with

Women Vietnamese fools strays fire

Me

My people have got no place in history,

Too disruptive for our own good

Born to shape canyon with screaming skin

Of phoenix fist,

Our bodies a wail of muscle and redemption

My God, what a display we make,

All yeehaw and

Yippee-kai-yay,

Bitch!

We are no folk tale,

No sand-spun legend,

The books threaten to stifle us with dust

And still we kick,

All the dead lonestars our spurs,

our prairie swang,

I am a Yellow Rose,

your

jingle,

jangle,

jingle,

Listen,

The gold was in our bones

All along

We are the railroad

The winding streets

The ruined mine—

Bones—

I’m one southern motherfucker

Clapback and crooked teeth,

Sunshine and smart mouth—

The earth has never shaped a miracle,

hoe,

So we do it ourselves

Centuries of grief the pitch beneath our nails,

We clutch a ladle,

a trowel,

a brick,

and sing

Truth is,

I’m the child of my ancestors,

As well as my mama

They,

Who have always been made to do the work

A golden corpse

Was once forced to guide

Bandits to the harvest

But now

We seize the riches

For our own