The Abiding

Pallid, placid and plain,
in their places in the pelting rain,
their faces follow
the shrinking train.

There will be quilts.
Buckets trap water.
There will be trades.

And whiskey,
and daughters.
Hems and seams.
Girls who run silhouetted,
evenings.

Horses. Riding.
Shrieking games. Hiding.
The hiss of dust
flipping pages against the siding.

Will wilts.
Aches clear.
Sky beams.

A stone in the belly.
Blue feet.
But bread and chicken
baking here
in distant dreams.

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4 thoughts on “The Abiding

  1. Having read this I thought it was very enlightening. I appreciate you taking
    the time and energy to put this article together. I once again find myself personally
    spending way too much time both reading and commenting.
    But so what, it was still worth it!

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