Where Is the Girl?

Do you know that soul behind drooping lid?

Where is the girl who flew on wind and hooves?

Never mind falling off into the mud.

Where is the curious girl who cooked grass?

Has anyone seen Santa Claus? 

Patiently we waited in the bathtub for shiny

Bicycles, red for her, purple for me—

Back and forth we rode an eternal stretch,

Stealing into watermelon patches

For a summer, or four; till bikes we ditched

In favor of winged creatures.  Equine hearts

Beat private paths through cattails and stubble,

Noble beasts and high-stepping young ladies.

What of vanished days in the hay-bale fort?

Of poker tournaments and cigarettes?

Fine wine and Italian boys happened.

Can you feel heat still beating in the breast

That stood on its own, not wanting support?

Whose thin lips are those, parched, once kissed richly?

What of suntanned arms that rocked the babies?

Now the little fingers curl ‘round

See-through paper skin

Exposing trails that lead to the heart.   

What good is a mind filled with facts that leak

Onto the pillow? 

All gone is the father who taught the girl

To ride amber waves all the way to town,

To be a woman among men, but of the freedom

In grain and eighteen wheel rigs?

Dreams come in the summer days before time,

But blow far in dusty wind, then arrive

Back in the arms of the sun for a spell.

I long to catch a glimpse of the song bird;

She took flight too soon, the Angel who sings

To angels.