March 30, 2011 § Leave a comment

They sat weaving dreams

amidst the tall grasses,

leaning against a gray

silo half full of grain.


Everything could happen.

Honeysuckle grew wild in

the silo’s shade. They pinched

its nectar into their mouths.


Late-day sun slid down bare

legs, landing on dandelions

yellow and moon white.


Across the gravel drive

four red heifers looked up.

One flicked an ear.


How could they know?

These girls in ponytails,

the wonders they would

make and miss and find.


Or how the measure of

each blade of grass, slipped

to squeak between fingers

and woven around wrists


was part of all that mattered.

So much would come back

to here. To the long metal

gate, to the staring heifers, to

the floating tufts of dandelions.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading Weavers at Kinds of Honey.


%d bloggers like this: