04-25-2016, 01:43 AM
Traveling Lady
Smoke splashes the air with alarm.
Presbyters come alive in panic, chase
to the church. Snow and fire replace rain.
Not in her cockney accent, not with a nod
or shake of her brown curls, and not with
blood or otherwise, but Mrs. Miller is all in.
Salvation comes as it does, or not, as a shot
in the back, or in the arm. White-bound
evergreens hang boughs in silence.
Smoke and gold and breathing are all
part of the wager. She is the prize.
The night grows colder.
Smoke splashes the air with alarm.
Presbyters come alive in panic, chase
to the church. Snow and fire replace rain.
Not in her cockney accent, not with a nod
or shake of her brown curls, and not with
blood or otherwise, but Mrs. Miller is all in.
Salvation comes as it does, or not, as a shot
in the back, or in the arm. White-bound
evergreens hang boughs in silence.
Smoke and gold and breathing are all
part of the wager. She is the prize.
The night grows colder.