Westward


White box van
sails arrow highway
westward
New images flood the windows of our carriage
Lengths of land we’d never imagined
A great tusk arcing 
along the shore of the Mississippi
Red earth ripped open 
a sliver at a time
No words
just wheels hissing on pavement
Another move
We trembled
at our roots perhaps
though faces were poised
toward possibility.
The Pacific,
still, from afar
but Oh! the waves 
that would pummel us.
by
Barbora Bridle 
06/2011

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