“I swore I heard willows cry/through the zig zagged fields,/traveling through my universe/as quickly as the moon touches our light”
Browned boots with a layer of dust
as thick as my thesaurus
auburn horns that always left me
wandering and curious.
Prancing silently, gracefully—
at ease, fleeing from any scene,
from a pace or a yell.
The synchrony that San Isabel brings,
that of a waltz that’s engrained in muscle memory.
I followed her,
trying to ignore the red-soaked water,
Which patch of dirt, or is it grass,
Does she sink into each night?
The air between my septum
sent a lengthy crisp through every vein.
Silence of the leaves—
eerie and calming as the oldest house on Main.
My walk disturbed by a sudden distress—
a shot and a sound.
Ears rang from cheering as the clouds in that moment grayed.
I swore I heard willows cry
through the zig zagged fields,
traveling through my universe
as quickly as the moon touches our light,
running through the hills, up rocks and cliffs.
The lotus in my being died slightly that day,
seeing we as these beautiful humans we are supposed to be
don’t knock lightly on Mother Nature’s door
to see if we are lucky enough to get an invite in—
as if it the finest art museum.
Sneaking quietly around,
whispering, mesmerized by the things words can’t explain.
But instead,
push it around, dishevel it,
kill it in our wake.
Cameron Rife is a poet living in Denver, Colorado. She finds expression from a deeper part of herself through writing and draws inspiration from nature and human experiences less openly discussed. She is also passionate about mental health, works in a pediatric psychiatric unit, and is currently obtaining her masters degree in counseling.
