Ordeal by Doc Wallace

I am not a silent poet

She lies in the dirt road, snubbing.

Wind-blown clouds scurry to a crescent moon,

shadowing her naked legs while

ripped skin bleeds.

Her tear-streaked face studies

the stars and clouds,

a scene almost beautiful

but for the terror of this day.

So tired. She wants to sleep,

to forget.

She wants her mom.

But she is alone

on the cold dirt road

in the middle of vast, flat land.

Slowly she rolls to all fours;

stands on shaky legs.

Moonbeams show her jeans in the dust.

Painfully, she inserts her bloody bare feet

into each pant leg.

Soft cotton brings discomfort.

Now the long walk back

toward the distant lights in

the early evening sky,

toward home. Toward safety.

As long as they don’t come back,

she hopes, glancing furtively

over a bruised left shoulder,

quickening her pace thru pain.

For a whole day they kept her.

Snatched her off…

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