Will was drawn to that spot
spirits or not, something-body pulled him there
like a mystic magnet that attracts flesh
and flesh he found in that grove, between
a stubborn hackberry and twisted oak: mother and newborn,
their blood soaking the prairie grasses
he walked the hard mile to the pay phone
passing but one unfriendly ranch house on the way
a growling cur keeping him at bay
the operator connected him
with the sheriff who collected his one deputy
and was there in half an hour
Lord Almighty, Lord Almighty
the deputy kept saying, those chants hanging
in the hot air above the bodies
while the sheriff checked for pulses,
his khaki pants painted round red at the knees
for he was too old to squat
neither knew the girl, who couldn't
have been age of consent, but the baby looked pink,
strong, though still as stone
the ambulance couldn't make it there;
the driver and deputy carried them out
on one stretcher
both commenting how light
their fated cargo was, how it was a shame
they perished in that old copse
Will knew that was meant to be
when he found them: the little one first clinging
to a dark warm sea inside
forced out by time, her helpless heaving,
and some invisible hand that took part in all matters
of flesh, spirit and bone
the same hand that did not cradle them
but at least found them shade, a cool but cruel
reprieve from their terse time in the sun
Sweetwater, Texas, 1959