…the barn light interrupts the dark
with hope – cars and sound, dead asleep
for miles, while old children parcel
a carcass in their dreams, each
playing on the edge of their grave
for a chance to win, another roll
on the same thin blanket spread
upon her flesh for generations –
drawing lines while she still breathes,
for yet another surgery. Here, we
hold her hand and pray once more
for the gods we’ve come to know.
drycrikjournal 