I’m a country girl

 

I’m a country girl. It’s hard to grieve in the city.

The buildings are too flat. In the streets

loss flees its reflection in glass, memory

turns to dust in corners, is swept away,

becomes the sad smell in drains, bad dreams.

I’m a country girl. It’s hard to grieve in the city,

no bed of sand or grass to lie down in,

watch the forms of clouds return to formless.

Loss flees its reflection in glass, memory

has a voice too soft to be heard within

the din of traffic, the glare of looks and seems.

I’m a country girl. It’s hard to grieve

without hillsides of bare trees in winter

pale skies above long fallow fields.

Loss flees its reflection in glass, memory

seeks the smoke of brush fires layering

short evenings into ordinary nights.

I’m a country girl. It’s hard to grieve in the city.

Loss flees its reflection in glass, memory…