Prairie Flowers

Her David lay on his back in the prairie grass, staring up at the sky

Where there was just one cloud

Shaped a little like a wagon cover without wood or wheels;

The blood was already pooling

In his back

And inside his boot heels

And anything he might have said

Or seen

Or been

Was over,

Because David was dead

And by the time the raiding party got close enough to start shooting her goats for the sport of it,

She was down into the little ravine

With her precious Hannah Rose in her arms

And her heart in her throat,

A prayer on her lips

For the two of them somehow, please sweet Jesus, not to be seen

Down the crack in the land where the crick had been

Last spring

When the prairie flowers bloomed.



Her David lay dead in the prairie grass,

And her pretty Hannah Rose,

Last winter's baby,

Started to cry when they fell from her catching her broken-soled shoe on the uneven stones and clods

Down the gully

Where the crick had been,

Where the circuit-riding preacher had baptised them both

Just a month ago;

And now,

Oh God, oh Jesus, Lord and angels,

Let my child live

Let my baby live

Let my darlin' live

Because my heart and soul would turn to dust and scatter across Hell itself

Without her.



Her David lay still and dead in the prairie grass behind her

As she cut her hand on a stone pushing herself to her feet again,

Running, stumbling, holding her beautiful Hannah Rose to her full and terrified heart

In the moment she heard the hoof beats behind her

Coming closer,

Closer,

She couldn't look back, she kept running,

Thinking,

They say it is better to die than to let the Comanches catch you;

But I will run

Until I cannot run

I will love

Until I cannot love

I will kiss my baby's face

Until I can no more,

Down in the little dry ravine

Where the crick had been

Only this last spring

When the prairie flowers bloomed.

__________

for One Shot Wednesday 25