methow grist 2011-2014 archive


watch coyotes breach aspen trees, shoulder first light. Glimpse bluebirds, finch mates, flash of meadowlark. Frame first smiles, words, steps in our hands. Wander among weeds, bunchgrass, wind. Quench tomatoes, cherries, plums. Gather eggs. Grow children who rise beyond the hills. See sharp-shinned hawks wing dusk out of reach. With wine, bread composed in a daughter's hands, gauzy greens from the garden—
we bind the corners of our years to this table.

*for my Chewuch tribe

By Linda M. Robertson




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