feels as if she must have
watched it in utero, deep
as the memory of that rough
rectangle lies, drawn by oceans
and invisible border fences — that field
whose beasts roamed — Lows,
Highs, cloud herds grazing,
their manes flows of white
smoke, charcoal, iron.
The dwarfed man-figure
his pointer fixed on rick-rack
curves, circled Fates
that might spin gold
from wheat or weave
tragedy taught her
everyone she loved
lived insect-like
among the roots, subject
to larger whims — stampedes
of sleet, sheaths of ice,
droves of rain that galloped
across the lawn, the corn.
At the center of the winds’
maze, an occasional bull
birthed of ordinary air,
furious, untameable,
set to lay waste the plain
heart of our pasture,
its sea-edges, its
precarious towns.
-Leatha Kendrick
Powerful.
so happy to be inside your words again.
Haunting imagery.
lovely.
Thanks, you guys. I am loving reading so much good poetry!
Beautiful images. Wonderful descriptions.
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