the last frontier

when the pioneers forded
the mississippi,
ankles wet and
skirts dipped in
chocolate mud,
they were yearning
for land
for freedom
for home
and the muck
sucked their shoes
and the sludge
nudged their shins
and the mire
tired their souls.
O, to give in!

i endure on the banks
of that old man river,
ankles dry and
skirts rustling in
barren air,
and i lust
for exposure
for plain talk
for home
and the drafts
grasp my hands
and the winds
skim my neck
and the skies
prize my secrets out.
O, to give in!

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