Vintage pitch fork photographs,
crying for relief as she baled hay,
always conjured up pale childhood memories.
The grange, the fetus of her
mother’s womb carried contrived comfort
to the drudgery and hardships of farm life.
Their farm gave her the gift of
umbra lungs, filled with the scent of dung,
and ruby gore freely flowing from her hands.
Her sole refuge was grade school,
as the land was a snake, which swallowed
her whole, then spat her out; only to tend it.
Alone, she walked home in silence,
touching the earth’s crust beneath her feet
with dreams past the length of her two leather shoes.
She dreamt of cures for lost minds
and solace where she could just be her,
and settle on dreams beyond the valley floor.
She hopes to tend a tract of land
that is her own and bring her comfort
with dreams past the length of her two leather shoes.