The house had shrunk
And was in disrepair.
Wood rots in time as does the mind
Of a child too long kept from
Love and home.

The distance, that once took
small, sunburned limbs
more steps to cross the yard, from
house to red barn, to chicken coop, the granary and beyond, now shortened.

All the way to the secret
wheatfields she’d run,
where tears were sobbed,
swallowed in huge gulps,
the fields always thirsty.

Still, the sun remained
the same. A meadowlark
perched on a splintered
post singing all was well
in it’s world and the one beyond.

The tadpole grew its legs,
coyotes howled at the moon,
Cows chewed their
cud in wide-eyed
boredom and innocence.

Nature rocked and cooed
to its young, held it close
in watchful arms as if
no evil had been let in,
no damage had been done.

— Ronda Miller lives in Lawrence.

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