Friday, July 1, 2011

sentinel

sometimes she walks
along highway 41
walks like she's got no
particular place to be
what once made her strong
now just something heavy

usually she sits
on a bucket or an old
folding chair in the grass
her back straight
chin high
steel shot through
her frizzy hair
and stones in her mouth

but her eyes burn
always watching
just above the horizon
to the east

waiting hard

 
~

3 comments:

Jennifer Jackson said...

I love the descriptions in this!

David Agnew said...

This is so sad.

I have met people (old ladies mostly) who are locked into a state of just waiting - very sad!

David

Rachel Brooks said...

This is a beautiful poem. I feel like I'm right there with her walking along the highway.