I thought that I could run
like a wild stallion on an open field, up mountains,
across the desert of O’Keeffe, sparse and flat
like water over stones pushing sticks and leaves
and rushing to pass from moment to moment
changing shape, formless, but always in motion,
but the arroyo was dry so I went back to the Huron
and found that the river still rushes
and the willows still touch down
on the shores where the Potawatomi trails
keep going until dark
and although you are only a few yards away from civilization
the moon is shadowed by conifers and oak trees
and leaves of varying breadth but to run is to lose your own breath
and now I know that to run like a wild stallion on an open field or like water over stones pushing sticks and leaves and rushing past willows and waterfowl is no more likely than a dammed up arroyo because
rivers never stop and
people do.
Author Bio:
Maryann Lawrence is a writer, a salesman, a mother, a wife, an undercover hippie, deadbeat charwoman and wanna-be financier. Her stories are guided by misguided ideas about people, and the delusion that life should be idyllic. She has worked in offices, fast food restaurants, fragrance stores and security guard agencies. Her favorite job was a beat reporter for her hometown paper. She once lived, barefoot and pregnant, on a campground outside Santa Fe, an adventure she is longing to top.
like a wild stallion on an open field, up mountains,
across the desert of O’Keeffe, sparse and flat
like water over stones pushing sticks and leaves
and rushing to pass from moment to moment
changing shape, formless, but always in motion,
but the arroyo was dry so I went back to the Huron
and found that the river still rushes
and the willows still touch down
on the shores where the Potawatomi trails
keep going until dark
and although you are only a few yards away from civilization
the moon is shadowed by conifers and oak trees
and leaves of varying breadth but to run is to lose your own breath
and now I know that to run like a wild stallion on an open field or like water over stones pushing sticks and leaves and rushing past willows and waterfowl is no more likely than a dammed up arroyo because
rivers never stop and
people do.
Author Bio:
Maryann Lawrence is a writer, a salesman, a mother, a wife, an undercover hippie, deadbeat charwoman and wanna-be financier. Her stories are guided by misguided ideas about people, and the delusion that life should be idyllic. She has worked in offices, fast food restaurants, fragrance stores and security guard agencies. Her favorite job was a beat reporter for her hometown paper. She once lived, barefoot and pregnant, on a campground outside Santa Fe, an adventure she is longing to top.
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