By Moving I Remain
My thighs make a swath
through the switches and bramble,
tugged, yanked, stuck,
as if this gnarled angry chaos
wanted to snare, entrap,
twirl and catch like barbed wire
curled around a heifer that dared
to batter the fence and zing
the staples shot out and the wire
recoiled and you find the hide
and stagnant hoof of the cow.
But I am too old to be stagnant.
I press forward to the yawning light
ahead, the red truck on the dirt road
waiting like a falling sun,
allowing the thorns their cotton twills,
the snags, pricked flesh,
worn patches a marker of pleasure.
By moving I remain.