Scarecrow part 2
The winter wind calls shrieks whispers my name through her frozen unmoving lips. Beneath still eyes …baby…baby…get mama down… the dead corn smears rough brown blood against my naked feet. My gaze locked there nowhere as her straw hand scratches claws tears at my hair cheek throat. …please…please…baby…get me down… Can’t. Won’t. Shouldn’t. Lost down the throat of the raging wind, caressing ravaging touching the hard dark dirt, …please… her bones soot ashes dust crumbling under his her my clothes. The gray soot rises with the wind into white oblivion. Pray no from lips that bleed but know no know. Rise on toes cracking true broken ground. Kiss her dead cheek and cradle her wasted nothings everything's down.
RK Riley quietly writes herself real from a small Midwestern suburb. Her debut poetry collection, “because…writings from a tainted life,” was released last year.
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