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Muses

The Farm

Pink peach fog
enters through the windows
clouding the room with a sugary mist;
the cool summer morning.

The little girl springs out of bed
bouncing down the long chestnut stairs
the screen door slamming behind her.

Shoeless,
she runs gently
the wet grass caressing her ankles.
She slides
under light
filtered through the leafy arch.

Past the garden,
filled with ripe tomatoes and squash.

Past the field,
dotted with wild flowers and berries.

Past the acres of land;
Her heart beating fast
Her bare feet pounding on the earth;
the hot midday.

She crashes through the corn
a maze as deep as it’s history.

She falls
down the steep bank
laced with roots.

She wades through the hazy water.
She bakes rich mud pies
filled with crunchy crickets;
the breezy afternoon.

Sitting in the soft grass
she peers behind her
over the countless hills
through the untold generations
of little girls
who also ran through those fields.

Retracing the steps
made for her
by her mother
by her grandmother
by her great grandmother.
They all walk home.

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