Town. Try as I might I can’t get the hang of it. It’s not who am.
This is me.
Death of a Cowgirl
She lived, really lived;
cattle witnessed it.
On long days,
while her horse slept
standing over her
she napped in his shade,
the only shade
(except for her wide brimmed hat).
With her dog by her side
she rested belly down,
cheek to grass
arms outstretched
embracing her Mother,
Earth.
Of all the hard day, her favorite
was the ride home,
the bone-weariness
of another useful, joyful day,
her welcome companion;
the tune of heart-singing
to the rhythm of a four beat gait
playing gently in her heart.
It was the move to town
caused her dying, bit by bit,
from the inside out.
Her heart died first
and then her will,
finally her body just gave up too.
Pavement and people
smothered the sky.
Grass became a ghost.
She sleeps blissfully now
under a blanket of prairie.
An old horse, long gone,
shades the spot,
an old dog sleeps at her side.
She lived, really lived;
cattle witnessed it.
One Old Cowgirl's View 