Old woman’s boot
Where does love live?
Boxed up in steel, saved and stashed
buried in her sienna skin. Love borne
of the empty, barren of touch.
She seeds vacant eyes, we see them
search and yearn, sour with hurt
turn to the dirt of the earth
ploughed and underfed, sown in mocha.
Warm soft shit shod from life.
Scythe and sheathe, sigh and heave apple pie
shine once jarred, in bottleneck reeds.
Copper vomit mudslide (sealed lust spewed).
Beetles race on clay, scuttle away beneath
clods of rootless grass. She plods past rusted
gates, rifle cocked in wait, in cold knuckle grip.
Daylight dims on broken falcon wings.
Burnt turkey basted. Muffins crusted for thrift
camp in brown paper bags, shelved for safety.
Callow dog on leathered leash retreats
in leaves by wooden fences. Blood-clodden boar
muddied swine in briny puddle. Pine needles fallen
sodden in tar, stuck to heels.
Old woman's boot
her only crime.