Feast of Prisoners in a Meadow Near Loneliness

Singling one out and laying it on her palm
the root of the weed is a surprise to her
I didn't know there was so much to them, she says
as he turns over on his side
his back to her

People, she says
have fed off such things
Prisoners, for instance, with nothing
better to live on
Maybe it was the root that sustained them
not the thorny leaves, surely
but what was underneath
a reason to put your hands
deeper into dirt

Imagine it--fields and fields of people
digging into things, digging
into people, always digging

Valerie Anthony
Contents | Mudlark No. 1
Laying on of Hands | Danger Zones