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Poetry

Sequoias

Heavy Fog Hangs Over Split Rail Fences in Early Morning

Heavy Fog Hangs Over Split Rail Fences in Early Morning

Once red sentinels:
tree titans of sylvan peace
reduced to two blocks of wood…
(we) communing in whispers
mouthpiece of wind
Time split us cleanly:
With the blinding light
o’ His blade ever dim?
She and I
sitting on a split rail fence
–no pioneer past
to pack a pipe
and smoke about
by stout men, with sun-
etched crows’ feet,
coveting their contemplative
chin-scratching, pea-
cock posturing
and broad
cowboy stances
in the dust
In this Dust
of the Land
that wind-whispers
our names
long after the men’s pipes
have been fossilized
in the bowels
of Mother Earth

Author’s Bio:

Originally from a small town in woodsy West Virginia, Gloria Wimberley now lives in South Florida where the eyeshine of gators, and plumbago are plentiful. Her work has appeared in Literary Mama, The Northern Virginia Review, Clockwise Cat, Tapestry, and elsewhere. A poem also appeared in Mothering Magazine, under the pseudonym Mirandah Thorn.

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