An Explanation

// Bradley Scott

My uncle hung himself out West
on a reservation.

I never saw it, but I imagine
Pueblos
everywhere
packed with sun-drenched earth and oak,
and maybe a
ladder
past the roof.

He divorced Maine,
blueberries,
and that bitch of an ex-wife for
fire-razed sands and
peace — Native American pediatrics.

My favorite picture is of him
holding a newborn in a
papoose,
strapped for eternity
in film;

our last visit was in an oddly clean
St. Louis airport on a
layover,
smiling too hard
before hanging himself on the
Sky.