Furrows
by
Doris Lynch
"The
plowers plowed…they made long their furrows." Psalm
129:3
Where
will I sleep
in
the furrows of death?
Will
I find a dove willing to pillow
my
cheek against its soft down?
If
only the sun-patterned grasses
might
curry my bare arms and legs.
This
burrow, this shaped hummock,
will
it provide a clear view of sky?
What
of those clouds racing past--
are
they too fleet for shrouds?
Where
will I sleep
in
the furrows of death?
What
will I cling to? Root,
barnacle,
rock face?
Piercing
the hard soil,
will
clods of earth block
my
passage? Will my body find
its
way? Find sanctuary, shelter?
Doris
Lynch has
work recently in the Tipton Poetry Review, the Atlanta Review,
Frogpond,
Haibun Today, and Contemporary Haibun Online. The Indiana Arts Commission awarded her three individual artist’s grants: two in poetry and one in fiction.
Haibun Today, and Contemporary Haibun Online. The Indiana Arts Commission awarded her three individual artist’s grants: two in poetry and one in fiction.