This is an original poem written by me and published at Spirit Wind Poetry Gallery.
She sits there on Rye Field-DEAD.
A cold, dark reminder
Of life’s cruelties and inevitable losses.
She sits there DEAD, unnoticed by everyone else.
Everyone, but me.
I see her every day, as I pass by Rye Field.
I see the empty shell that had once shouldered heavy loads
Protected and carried the young.
At first, she held a light of promise – a spark of hope.
Later – an oppressive weight.
The light extinguished, the spark now gone
Her death brings despair.
But also, painful relief.
I pass by her every day.
And I wonder when they’ll come.
When they’ll find her and take her away,
Take her home where she belongs.
When I pass by her I feel a twinge-
At once, a longing and a repellent.
Until one day-long after she dies on Rye Field-
Her man comes to take her.
He gathers some men around her empty shell-
Men that have come to haul her away.
He smudges her with Sweetgrass and Cedar
A cruel lie to all who know the truth.
I watch when passing by Rye Field
Heart heavy with all she stripped away
Heavy with truth and lies
And words carried away on the wind.
And knowing her death was the catalyst of it all
I stifle the tears in regard for the darkness-
The hole she left behind.
Her body is now gone
But I still pass by the spot she once laid
As broken as she, as empty.
And the destruction she left in her wake
Haunts me as I pass the empty place where she died.
On Rye Field.
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