That Land

I marched so roughly on your dirty rocky paths
Never seeing your trees
With arms that reached on forever
With leaves of green
I stomped on your twigs
And ran over your flowers
Pushing through the days
And praying to steal him away
But you were his land
And he belonged to you
I counted the landmarks as I flew through
~Log cabin, outhouse, water’s edge and twelve canoes~
Always searching for him
Always finding him working
Digging and planting and cleaning and tending
It was you, that land he loved, that came between us
Until his days off
When a six-pack and a few fishing poles
Would join us for a spin
Down the river that lined your edge

I’ve been away for three warm seasons
I’m writing to tell you
I’m sorry I took you for granted

I dream of your beauty
As often as I dream of him

Reviews

[Angi]

Oh wow. I am so happy I stumbled over you! To be jealous of the land. The very land underfoot! Beauty has been taken for granted and now that same beauty that called to him is calling to her, too. I want a sequel to this poem! Nice work, A. Angi~