Harden girl.
Monitor the temperature
in stored hay for
days are kept within
those bales
short and long
bundled in
the string of soft slim
summer women
hungry
tense-legged men
following what hopes
of
winter warmth
fodder meant to be
doled out
never this conflagration
wild and high always
a seven-brigade fire
his
girl
her father turned
decked another who
went down a bag of
sand stitches torn no matter
what hand the maker still heat
can split
across the seams
shouting out
the tendency
to blaze to leap
to feed
Great poem. Important poem.
ReplyDeleteRob you are a kind man. I am inspired ( if this is the word) by a very tumultuous situation of a friend of my childhood. Fathers and daughters and treachery, Oh!
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