Poem By Katherine Shelton

Can He Be Mine?

My wildhorse son, so late for dinner
His wilderness eyes, his flower hair, agate shoulders He doesn’t wait for anyone.
His arms and hands, cheetah bolting
grabbing spring, grabbing streets
He doesn’t take the bit, the rover, the wheeler hanging wild over western fences.
My son with black eyes, eyes of heat, iceberg eyes. his silent mesa backbone.
Shooting from the hip
my take-it-to-the-mat, kick butt son,
He stretches me, he pulls the sunflowers up taller, He pulls the daisy apart, loves me, loves me not heap of broken petals and his bruised mouth,
a storm hammering at the window at night
his feet crush the gravel.
He sighs and I sigh
he breathes purple air,
he takes all the air and leaves us stung red, fish gasping. My waterfall stampeding, eating dust, raven-maned son.

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About Miriam Sagan

I'm blogging about poetry, land art, haiku, women artists, road trips, and Baba Yaga at Miriam's Well (https://miriamswell.wordpress.com). The well is ALWAYS looking to publish poetry on our themes, sudden fiction, and guest bloggers and musers.

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