Winter Wheat

I tried to make a bargain with the morning

Out on the dirt road

Frozen hard.

I said,

"I will swap you one of my dreams--"

But she shook her hair, the way straight women do;

(It was made of slanting light--

I could see right through)

Her boredom made my joints ache,

And kind of pissed me off, too.



I did something bad to the morning,

And had all I could handle

Rolling her down into the half ice of the river.

Ever seen a girl like her fall off a star?

The river held her for just a moment,

Then cracked its bones

And let her fall.

She sank

Like my heart does

Whenever you leave my little room.



I came back and told you what I'd done to the morning,

Though you were still sleeping

With one hand under your pillow

And the other

Waiting for me to kiss it

And fill it with wet delicious cherries.



What I had wanted from the morning

Was to swap out one of my dreams

(One of the good ones, with lightning and talking cats and fields of winter wheat grown high in a Kansas July)

For a simple promise:

That you would stay.

That you would wrap your body around mine and not leave;

That I could bury my face in your coarse black hair and breathe,

As if it were smoke from a smudge stick,

Keeping devils away.



But I killed the morning,

And left her blankly tossing her hair at the bottom of the river.

You will wake up, see the time,

And those perfect hands of yours will only grace cold car keys

While I kiss the devil

And call her by your name.

________