Today's poem is by Gigi Marks

Logging Road

ten-thirty in the morning and I was
walking in the dust of my own foot
steps and fine light that filtered in
from old trees and branches, and
because there were small daisies
on the side I wasn't looking when
the truck came with a sound loud
as wind and lifted me off the road
and left me as near to dead as I
had ever been before. There was
dust in my mouth and blood and
I could smell the grasses that were
growing just a foot or two away
because I had pulled myself up
by their stems and left them bruised.

Copyright © 2005 Gigi Marks All rights reserved
from Northwest Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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