Cooling Off (In a March Cornfield)
The stalks bent down in broken-spined decay
around a squelching way to what she hoped
was fresher mind–clear of the stuffy day
where, shut indoors, resolve itself had moped.
In movement now, and mud, and steel-cold air,
she sought to shed the skin of that day’s self–
she’d bitched at him; she knew she wasn’t fair–
but his acceptance of what, upon life’s shelf,
seemed crumbs (to her), turned lips to lion’s jaws
that tore at sense and spattered rage. She walked
on hard; regrets to come should give her pause,
but patience (his) made self-possession balk.
So, laboring through a frozen field of corn,
she waited for redemption to be borne.
“So, wading through a frozen field of corn,
she waited for redemption to be borne.”
Thanks much, as always. K.
ManicDDaily 
Recent Comments