I wasn’t made from the rib of a man
I was fashioned from a potent mixture
Of Gun Powder
And the Seeds of Bluebonnets
Bound together with the Sap of Mesquite Trees

I didn’t crack forth from the skull of a god
I was born in an Oyster Shell in Galveston Bay
And adorned with Pearls on my Birthday

I’m the Feral Daughter of the
First Twilight Star and the Bobcat.
The Child of a Blue Norther
That picked up the Red Dirt and carried
It to the rich
Soil south

I am in the Sunset
And it is in me

The Sunrise is in me also
And I always rise
Like the Sun

No matter what the Day
Before brought
What Storm
What Drought
What Anger blew through

I am her Strength
I am her Kindness
I am her Hospitable
Quiet Rage
That can withstand all
And remain
When others have fled

You may keep the Roses
I can use the Thorns
I am in Her arid Mountains
That allow me to hide because few can follow
She is thick Piney Woods
That allow me to escape because few can see

You may think you own Me, or Her
Because I don’t fight or flee, and She doesn’t speak to you
But We are just waiting for you to die

To let your bones also rest with the
Others Occupants.

They aren’t so much Graves
As a multitude of Souls
Turned into Her Soil

That you think you or I will be remembered
Humors Her

Crooks, and Angels, and Cow Men
Whores and Robbers and Ramblers. Muses, Artists
Lovers
Women and Men who are as strong as the Tide
Children who are hopeful and happy
Hard working worn out Hearts
Who see your ignorance
But will not take away Her
Right
To watch you fall. On your own

Or by Her Hand.
Eventually

Because the Land doesn’t care
If you are good or you are bad
The Land doesn’t take sides
She doesn’t become sad
She merely waits and bides Her Years
Singing in the Wind, rustling Leaves filled with Rhyme

And I sit with Her and watch your attempts
At dominance. The vanity and folly of man
Erecting, digging, and scraping
Wearing your Costumes.
Doing your deals
Telling your lies
Building your buildings up to the sky
Slapping your name on this or that trail
Buying and paving that which was never for sale

She seems so still, so docile
As you drink from Her
Though you are not Her child
And you give nothing in return

Do you even see Her?
Or do you see Her and imagine that you have dominated
Her into submission?

I’m burned to ecstasy by Her Glare
I stare into Her Gaze for the warmth
And Her Light which fills my being
With Her
And I’m wrinkled by age
I turn and watch with Her, somewhat amused
At those who think She is theirs
When the truth is She will win

And She’ll do it with Time

And I will die
One day
At Her Feet
Not yours