said she had
the wrong color
of mud on her boots,
didn't really matter to her,
"I don't take charity or shit" -

pond mud the
color of starvation
baited her fish hook,
in she threw the monofilament
line, jigging spoons, corn cob bobber
dunked, puffy-eyed marshmallow tears
caught the biggest trout to feed her belly of
fears, last will, no, that's free will and testament,

up walked Lug Sole,
Ladies, size seven, told
her to throw the fish back,
"It's my prize,"

"you can't
fill my boots,
Lug Sole," she
shouldered her pole,

her graceful
animal kicked,
still in saddle and
bridle, another venison
or quail, berries on the trail,

hunger knows
enough to be an
expert on anything,
cottontail or pussy,
bursting out of a heavy
growth of bush surrounded
by a tipi ring, f***ing for spiritual
sake or nothing,

she stopped
her horse at the
edge of Tear Ridge...
buffalo rose from their
beds all around her, and it
was here, fur and fire sticks,
where she learned that heavy
ribs deflected anything of an arrow,
she looked down at the mud on her
boots, size 6...big boots to fill, year 2009,

I...

Copyright 1/1/09 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist


http://www.sagesweetwater.blogspot.com/