Tent Pitching

She stands in a field like a silk tent
the ropes taught around her body and arms
dragging her into the ground, if not for her legs
stubborn trunks, columns into the soft earth
and you can feel the strain on her neck
just by glancing or walking past

The sun heats what she keeps inside
kernels and seeds, love and malice
they bubble and pop in the heat
rising out of her, begging to break free
bitter salt on the lips of those who have ears to hear

If I asked her to set her chains free
would she leave her burdens with me
or bury herself farther in the ground?

I ran my fingers along the tent wall
down her side, tracing her navel and her spine
and I felt the ropes pull farther into the soil
like a wind were galling against her mind
and her desires were a sail lifting her from the ground
wrapping the ropes tighter around her throat
sa précieux, or la gorge...

What if I were to take up the ax lain at her feet?
Would she be set free?


1 comment:

ae said...

danny I love this one