“Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?”
—William Wordsworth,
“Lines Written in Early Spring”
Boxes tied with string
Old sugar sacks
Filled
With books
Socks
Grandmother’s sweater
Grandmother’s cider
A journal
A pen
She followed rivers
Creeks
Run-offs
Through orange dirt
She followed the birds
They always knew
Where to find water
And at each
Oasis
She left something behind
A thanks
An offering
A sacrifice
A song
Until it was summer
And she walked barefoot
Over the hot rocks
Of foothills
Hands empty now
Even her songs
Only in her head
Her throat
Her mouth
The cider
Inside her
The socks
Decorating trees
The sweater
A scarecrow
She came at last
To the high country
Green mountains
A long meadow where wild iris
Still bloomed
As if time had stopped
And spring lived always
In this one place
Where a large chair
Throne-like
Had been set on a rise
At one end
Commanding
An eternal view
Of beauty
Red velvet cushions
Gold painted arms
All looked new
As if weather were not allowed
To touch it
She
Did not touch it
Did not sit
She tried to go on
But the throne
Pulled her back
Once
Twice
Three times
She left the meadow behind
Only to turn
To return
Following her own path
Through damp grass
Finally
Exhausted
She lay down at the far end
Of the meadow
And slept
And when she woke the moon
Was up
The meadow filled
With people
Thin
Sick
They surrounded
The throne
A bowl filled with rice
Sat before it
One by one
The people stood
Came forward
And took a single
Grain of rice
Until the bowl
Was empty
Then there was silence
Then out of the silence
Came a song
Like the wind in winter
Rising
From the people
And the words of the song
Were names
Only names
On and on
The people sang
Rocking
Weeping
Singing
Names
Until the sky began to fade
And the song
And the people
Faded too
But the throne
The golden throne
Glittering in the new sun
The throne remained
Katherine West lives in Southwest New Mexico, near the Gila Wilderness, where she writes poetry about the soul-importance of wilderness, performs it with her musician husband, Yaakov, and teaches seasonal poetry workshops that revolve around "wilderness writing." She has written three collections of poetry: The Bone Train, Scimitar Dreams, and Riddle, as well as one novel, Lion Tamer. Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Lalitamba, Bombay Gin, and TheNewVerse.News which recently nominated her poem "And Then the Sky" for a Pushcart Prize.