a wagon load of rocks…

a wagon load of rocks…

a bloom of calico bent

at dawn’s grace

in labored prayer

 

the rutted trail

cut west

staking its claim

 

to her infant girl —

buried now

in this valley

 

with blistered hands

she clears the field —

and of her sorrow

 

a cairn

a fence

a heart

of stone

 

rise

 

at evensong

she straightens

her back

 

tucks loose strands

into her bun

 

takes stock

 

two horses

three cows

one good man

[broken as she]

and a log cabin

 

these blessings

 

and a wagon load

of rocks

 

home

♥♥♥

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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