by Emily Graham
Nestled in the countryside of a sleepy, north-eastern town,
Sat a simple- little house on a hill.
The long, stone driveway was framed by uncut grass and pine trees.
Rundown buildings dotted the empty field.
The sun had begun his weary decent to the horizon
When the tree-line offered me a Red guest.
I sat on the back porch, new summer on my mind- drink in hand,
Oblivious at first to seeking eyes.
As my breath caught I stood, silent and wanting for her measure.
The trees speaking in the pleasant spring breeze.
Her painted face is of the land in which she earns her colors-
Pointed ears positioned to hear her name.
Perfect as a statue, not a hair out of place on her head-
Both of us unable to move an inch.
For the moment, she is Billy the Kid, Jesse James, outlaw-
Living by the call of the wind, running.
Caught by surprise, she dare not make the first move without lady luck-
She simply watches from her tall grasses.
I rise to play the role of do-gooder, star-breasted sheriff-
Fingers tremble with anticipation.
Will my felon of moonlight run, or face the midnight music?
Do I draw on her here, or marvel yet?
The moment swirls inside my mind as crickets come to fiddle-
Will we dance in stillness as minutes turn?
Give me a sign, oh vixen of fortune and of wilderness-
That I might match your spirit in this life.
Never has patience so closely married chaos in my mind
As now she stands image of perfection.
The whispers of an owl break through our reality once more,
And my red visitor is lost to me.
I will wait for you, I call to the dark spaces she once owned.
With heaviness I sit again, wishing.
Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing, SNHU Student