A woman travels alone
to a place where there are only trees
and the wind. Her footsteps
are scattered by the tall grass
No voice whispers back
Sunlight dapples wherever it falls
chalk on the leaves, butter
on her arms. A bird
on a low branch cocks its head
stares into her. Their hearts
race. She feels the hard
clasp of wing and the bones
pierce at her back. She
fights to breathe
Later, she will go live
at the edge of a clearing
She will not face a hunter
straight on
- Carol J. Pierman
in The Naturalized Citizen (1981)
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