“As She Waits”

by Katie Hatcher

The curve of the dirt road,

the lacy shade of a magnolia,

the river behind the house,

the sun glints.

The smothery smell of cooking tobacco,

dull gold instead of greenish brown.

Creek-width black water,

she listens to the roar.

Her keen bright face

sharp nose, green eyes,

watches ice melt

and listens.

Powdery gray dirt,

bricks and straws of light.

If they don’t come soon

she’ll go.

She putters around the house

still listening,

it will start soon.

In the quickening dusk

a car shows,

she turns.