Standing In The Edgeland

 

Standing in the edtgeland

The wind wants to tear down my fence

loosening the palings and pushing forth

the openness of an edgeland, my garden spilling

into a field of Joshua trees. Coyotes, jack rabbits

and others could enter — but the dust needs no fallen barrier;

it never did. It carries secrets of the land

and of those buried beneath, the pungent smell

of drought. I’m reluctant to breach this grove of trees

sheltering ghosts and ravens, the tribe of my sins

and those messengers who would tell me what has been cast. Science

calls this place a high desert habitat — with little rain

and four seasons. I know better. It’s where you come to listen

on the border of nowhere and everywhere, wanting to solve

the riddle of what sings in your bones, the disquiet that quarantines,

renders you vulnerable — to imagination and what she hides

in her hood of fur. Her most primal state.

 

4 comments

  1. ” It’s where you come to listen

    on the border of nowhere and everywhere, wanting to solve

    the riddle of what sings in your bones”

    Wendy,

    Splendid. Spiritual and all consuming. I felt the wind as I read,
    I heard the desert speak to the soul. Thank you !

    sarah

    Like

  2. Dear Echopoet, Sarah and Craig

    Thank you all so much for reading and commenting on this poem! I deeply appreciate your input and continual interest in my work! It means a great deal to me!

    Again, many thanks,
    Wendy

    Like

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