Posted Monday, January 6th, 2003
A Young Girl Loses Her Girl
Sovana are you hidden there, far past those deep white hills?
I'm by the windowsills. The horizon hides your ill-shaped bovine black,
and the snow falls in shifts. I begged for the tractor but I am too young.
Feeding the chickens, I'd place my hand below your nose
to cup small sweet fog in that barn air. Weight in this world.
Ninety-three days now and the chickens are dying quickly.
Time gets awful but the melt finds the fields. I pass the cutting board,
and the tall grasses, until I finally find you fallen
to the snow's nasty habit. Where is your nose?
The moon shines on your upturned frame, an xray pale and catching starlight.
You arc up, Sovana, twenty-two ribs rocking. I hold the solid bone
of your head in both hands. They will let me bring you inside.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Kerry Ann [ email@example.com
] on Wednesday, January 8th, 2003 at 10:41 PM
Very beatiful. Thank you. I especially can feel the "cup small sweet fog in that barn air" soooooo pretty.
Posted by Nicholas Taylor on Friday, January 10th, 2003 at 8:48 AM
Man, I want some livestock...
Posted by Brent Bartley [ firstname.lastname@example.org
] on Thursday, December 29th, 2005 at 12:27 AM
I'm a little late in the game on this one, but I have to tell someone that when I read this it made me cry. I don't know why and I'll probably never know but it did. Does that make me less of a man? I don't know. I had to tell someone.
Who is this Lindsay Sagnette?
Posted by Adrian Devenyi [ email@example.com
] on Saturday, March 18th, 2006 at 7:07 PM
This is so beautiful. It touched a very deep chord within me. Lindsay, where can I find some of your recent work?