there is blood in the saddle that I took up to ride
and the shale that cuts the cord
I can no longer hide, between the sheets and
the wind that pulls the heart towards hell
and I'll sip with you one bottle, while
the beat of belly swells, you say, " muster up
the courage," spoken by some unnamed saint;
contrition for the devil, is that accepted by your
god? that bears me take another
mouth with no words for food
or symbol of a morrow, which to light its face
only grace given for repentance as shale cuts
the cord, calling it deliverance
and my just reward.......
bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2010
Posted for One Shot Wednesday, Where Poets and Writers Meet
this piece is about the state of poverty - in which many women find themselves in...bkm
