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




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

















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