She gathers herbs and music
The woman I would be
And proffers freely healing.
Of woolcraft and wordcraft
She might turn a penny
Or trade for eggs.
She misses the haunts of raven
And awaits new friends.
Turkeys? No, they ran away.
Box turtles? No, they did not stay.
Bigfoots? Again they did not come today.
 |
| DonkeyOkie Pond |
there are plenty
And stray dogs
And record heat
wave upon wave.
What is there to love of
this backwoods place?
The poetry that pours
from pores like sweat
And shimmers
as a sky pond
Or trickles
into an eye and stings.
She'll grow some patchouli
To repel the bugs
And comfrey to knit back that which is broken
In body and time.
Music will keep the demons away
And the knitting needles and words will fly.
This woman I would be.
