Westward Movement
The ground is damp
it bleeds through my thin cotton skirt.
Crest born, I sit and wait the dawn.
My fingers weave into the high rye grass.
The house below is quiet still.
The children sleep.
The dog’s with me.
We sit high upon the hill.
Peaceful heart, Venus I spy
the morning star, the moon, and dawn,
God could see them in my eyes a tilt.
Barefoot bliss, Champ for a pillow
down I lie and sigh.
The children sleep.
My man’s returned.
Now, we sit high upon the hill.
He lies with me. Grass stains my skirt.
He weaves dewed daisies in my hair.
Crest born we writhe beneath the sky
above our farm on prairie grass.
The house below is quiet still.
The children sleep.
The dog runs home.
We sit high upon the hill.
Contest: Into Night's Dwelling
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Date: 1/8/14
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