Alicia Lewis: the dandelion

Fall '13 TOC

 

happiness was a time once past the field. field full of blood and dirt rubbed into your shins, your hair, calloused into your nails. nails pulled from the fence. fence pulled from the earth. earth works driven into your shoulder. shoulder the burdens of a state. state of virginia. virginia, you whispered, come to me, and I came to you. you never told me to come back. back behind the woodshed we coupled and danced love. love grows as burdens ascend. ascend the charge and ride north. north is as north does. does that make sense. sense is lost when you go north to fight south. south is a loss, but go north. north abides by some other rules that were dismantled, and you wove those rules into despair when you rode north. north won. won what? what does it matter what was won or lost. lost happiness or lost ideals across the fence no longer seem possible. possible is only evident when you are with me and I am with you. you once fought for the south, but rode north to hide. hide in the woodshed and tell no one. one of these days you will come back, or I will come back. back was a long time passing. passing the wounded without arms. arms blown from the body, only to be picked up and discarded by another man who wants to love, but how will he get to her without boots. boots taken by force. force is something that brings us together. together no longer, you will go south and I will go north. north is not contentment. contentment is shade on the eve of autumn. autumn trees once held their leaves, and now that you are gone, they fall from their limbs. limbs lost. lost cause. cause it is impossible to find the reason you went alone. alone in my love that once was, and you made it impossible for me to love another. another man came home wounded by you. you never knew him did you. you were too blind to see the battle lines drawn on the ground. ground upheaved and pinched, streams torn from their meandering lines. lines formed. formed an opinion of steel, of copper, of wood. wood was stolen to stay warm. warm was your wool, grey coat of many colors. colors lost. lost sight of our true feelings for one another. another lifetime, perhaps. perhaps you will come to me in another lifetime and find me dressed as I am in my calico print lifted in a woodshed, only to be torn and used as a bandage.

 ::Next::

 

Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
© 2012 Naropa University