Eagle-Eye Girl
You marrow-deep in the bone-dry field,
sprawled like a wishbone snapped wrong-
the ground drinks your weight,
but won't swallow you whole.
wind combs its fingers through the wheat,
a mother's touch turned phantom.
That house- small as a postage stamp,
licked, sealed, and sent too far-
waits with its back turned.
your arms are bridges to nowhere,
your legs, two broken clock hands,
stuck in a time that does not move.
still, your gaze- sharp as a knife-edge moon-
slices the dance like a butcher's twine.
the land here is a tight-lipped secret,
a locked jaw of yellowed grass,
a lungful of dust that never exhales.
you wear silence like a second skin,
but your eyes, keen as a needle bite,
thread the gap between longing and gravity.
eagle-eyed girl, you have the hunters staring,
but the hunted bones
tell me- does the sky ever blink first?
Copyright © Catherine Gilley | Year Posted 2025
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