Guest Poet Morgaine le Fey
Boneless
In The Mulies, the sky was small
and full of land sloping
into draws and gullies.
And there were big, pregnant mares,
bare-hoofed and rearing,
fattened off the range.
I felt redundant as I lay
lacquered with blood.
The man returned late in the afternoon,
stood firm
into intolerant wind,
filled the sky
blind.
I watched, helpless
as he let the woman take my horse.
I am relieved of even this.
Will I wither into the crow’s peck
and settle my dust;
become boneless,
non-supportive
of the world’s structure
The sky swallows a far cry.
The land is flat and full
of bleached bones.
September, 2002
Morgaine le Fey's questions:
My biggest problem here is the 5th S: letting go of the burden of life. It might be a bit too editorial?
I'm also not sure the concept of detail flattening out into expanse comes across as an effect of dying.
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