He was the wolf
I was the child.
Trembling expectant
shift of paradigm
renewal
smoky forests
at the water’s edge.
He was the wolf
I trembled
brave child
too naive
to be afraid.
Cocaine heart breakers
in the heartland
of America.
He was the wolf
I was wide-eyed
barefoot curious
experience life
brave child
following close behind
through goldenrod field
He was the wolf
I was growing child,
never stopping
to ask why
how
a man could be
a wolf
wanting to lead
a lonely child
from sea to
shining sea.
Booze bottled heart breakers
in the heartland
of America.
Railroad-track walkers
river-jumpers
blood dug out
of coal mines,
carried in carts
by men with black lung.
Kentucky sky
Kentucky love
And I never wondered
why he loved
me, as I was
a woman in age
a child in mind.
I just picked those
white clover and
honeysuckle,
never questioning.
He was the wolf
I was the child.
Tobacco breath
cave dust
tomatoes on the vine
coffee mornings
he was mine
I was his.
He was the wolf
I was the child.
Climbing waterfalls
searching for coyotes
howl at the moon.
Oxycontin heart breakers
in the heartland
of America.
Plucking orange dreams
from the Tulip Tree
counting cricket chirps
tin-roof Sunday sex
sleeping entwined
like our limbs
were made from
wild grape vines.
Skipping rocks
on old farm pond
following slate-bottomed creeks
searching for lost
Cherokee flint.
He was the wolf
I was the child.
Kentucky heart breakers
in the heartland
of America.
Copyright © Tia Kessler 2014
Photo Copyright © Wiley Quixote Art Works 2014