Western Trials We were strong, In the way that the desperately optimistic are strong, Following a trail That could only be seen in the dust rising behind us. The land was beautiful…unspoiled…virgin… And we erected our homes Using the proud bodies of ancient oaks, pine— The smoking stumps jutting up in the midst of our Would-be fields. The young hides of speckled fawn Stretched taut across our windows, Forcing the wind to whistle past minute cracks, The imperfect scraping—the result of haste. My skin cracked even as I dug into the frozen earth, Searching for roots, bitter in the boiling pot, Filling our bellies even as they left us hungry For more. Spring found me there, kneeling still by the Impromptu garden, The last of the year’s snow melting into my eyes. My eyes, which had so longed to see this promised land, The last frontier on earth. My eyes, gone dull with the digging…digging… Digging for the bitter roots that my hands never found. But Cold, Her Eyes Cold, her eyes, And she’s taking the final step Up She doesn’t shuffle (They all shuffle…) But her neck is straight, Hands bound in filthy hemp, Nails ragged. Dirty, her gown, And I find her revolting, She’s bathed in her own Waste, just this morning. Her scent is a pungent odor, Pulling the bile up to the back of my throat. But cold, her eyes, They disdain me. Insignificant. (Is she not afraid?) The crowd is cheering, demanding, Shouting out their hatred for one whom They don’t even know, But here, But now, In this place, She hears them not. No hemp to grace her ivory neck, But lay the faggots at her feet, Roses for the damned. They see only her proud head, As yet unbowed before them, Even now, as the torch is lowered, Shadows of fear on her flesh, She defies them all, Even me, Her murderer, her lover… But cold, her eyes, Though they quench not the fire, And I’m alone as the urine Puddles there at her feet. No title...any suggestions? Stunned, like a fish, Mouth gaping wide, pulling in air that Only choked me. But it was worth it. She was worth it. The dappling shade of Spring laden boughs Speckling her brown flesh With splashes of gold, The wet strands of silken night Splayed across her back, her shoulders, The crystalline water caressing her skin As it slipped, so slowly, between breast and naval, Naval and thigh… And her eyes, soft as a doe’s own doleful gaze— She saw me! though I swear, I made not a sound. I could feel her breath against me As she held perfectly still, Marveling at me as I marveled at her, Drowning in her gaze even as I found life. And still, she stood! She did not flee! Emboldened, I reached for her, A dream in morning sunlight, And the light flared brighter And in a moment, I was floating… sinking… floating… Sinking. Earth and leaves in my mouth as I lay there, Stunned, like a fish! Mouth gaping wide, the only sound to reach me, The defiant shriek of she who was my dream As her kin jerked his blade across my scalp And separated me from Spring.
I love the third one, very sensual and fragile, fleeting and intense.... 'Molting wariness' is what comes to mind.
I really like the first one, it feels very steady and grounding. I will have to read the other's later.
