In Memory of Josh Vinzant, 1973-2007

Max and History


Max sees the house clearly mirrored,

collapsed below the spruce and thin oaks.

His great-grandfather was born there, over

the white moon, beside the brown Grand River.

In '95, his uncle cleared

away the scrub brush, poured kerosene

under the stairwell. Tossed in a Zippo,

broke out a bottle and joint. Said, "Look at her."

The ghosts of grey coyotes crouched down

at their feet. Max named the smallest one

and passed the joint; the flames around

the chimney rose. Max used his handgun

and shot out the stars. Left one burning

in case he ever wanted to return.

--Josh Vinzant