twine

She always wanted a wheat field;
She couldn’t find out if her singing voice was good
or bad, no one listens on the weed-ridden road

And the song ends, she bleeds from the forehead
and is transported by airlift to a greenhouse in Wales,
molded and algaed glass leak rain to her shoulders

But she wanted to see the world –
all she saw was everything he shared

She wondered what trees -- the tops of
trees -- looked like
and her throat burned for
gin, but he drove back to Birmingham; “let’s go to the temple”,
oh how she wished she had
followed through

She found herself one day on a 50s suburb street
corner, white and yellow gingham aprons,
sustained by her affair and a secret adult life –
her 17-year-old was just as guilty of
burying himself in snow,
praying for or to a delta-17 call

On overcast days, you can’t see the sun, but you know it’s there,
and you bid it farewell

Maria Stratienko