Who I Am

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.