trailing

Trailing

He told me once that wheat was patient. If I needed
help with waiting, I should come to this farm field. Between

these stalks of sway and pause, and the horizoned Little Belts,
white pelicans flash and fish the river breaks. I trail the red rock

bank on Jeep, a buckskin mare. We climb dried-up gulches, thread
through bursts of orange paintbrush and bitterroot blooms

of baby-girl-pink. The sky is lonely when it is solid blue- this is why
it follows you. He called it the tag-along shadow. Two strips

of jerky, half of a water canteen. Three ravines to the backside
of Crow Pond. Jeep chomps along the edges of the field, I slip

the red blanket from her sweaty back. The west wind hushes shhhh,
think softly. Gray green yucca, white cottoned milk pods tickle

my bare legs. The more earth touches you when you are young,
the stronger you stand when you are ancient. I circle the rings of teepee

rock, spread the blanket down. Many palms have smoothed
this woven fabric. Jeep swishes her tail once. She’s not my horse-

this is not my dream. He told me once he knew where ghosts come
from. I take in his breath when he exhales. He’s been here forever.



published by Free Fall Magazine in Calgary, Alberta : click here.