Posted by: Reader Submission ,We are all indians in this parish. The white hearse follows me around town and stops at the donut shop next to the church with the sign that says “freedom”. You can never leave the south, you know. Yes I can. I just don’t want to. Wild dogs live by the train tracks. You think sometimes about joining them. Forget things like language when no one listens anyway. Someone left the cemetery gate open. Rain falls on your music box while you wait out the stoplight. I hope you know how to dance while you’re bleeding. We are all indians in this parish.