Remember How She Would Watch Me

I remember how she would watch me coming in late from playing in the fields in a new pair of slacks, whiteness between my ribs shooting at this lovely girl. And commanding her to yield. Along came a burnt cry that brought the farmhands running a raven, she told them. They looked down at my pale face, my stained slacks. The blemish that riddled the sedge Yes, the raven was hidden in the hedge grated against the souled turf and they took hold of my white hands, beautiful polished buttoned black boots laid on the ground as the earth pressed against me until my heart frothed over a broken rib cage. Everything that felt warm poured out of me and turned to ice, tree roots came crawling towards me new and very white on my fingertips as the sap started to harden into sinew, leaving the skin broken lying on the garden.