My soul lags behind me trying to
keep up with the walking stick that
bears our full weight of sorrow
Leaning into it I follow the secret of where it leads~
the feather white snow doesn’t seem to know,
and I’m almost too tired to care
just wanting to get there before the
wind carries the last leaf of my skin away
into another pile the soldiers can crumble
Like foxes, they sneak around the line of my people~
opportunists looking to steal our courage
I can think of very little else than food and warmth
I dig for roots along my way~
the rest of my clan ghosts that blanket
my shoulders with generations of wool
spun while we were smiling in the sun
and offering me bowls of water to
extinguish the unfamiliar hate that grows
within my sacred heart

Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2013