Soft white belly-sky meets the yellow skin of plains
Of bulging hills held down by stretch marks
Unshaven, uneven, scabbed and jagged, ugly
Swallowing whole the old frames of jagged wood and rock
Fattening his plump stomach, bursting at the seams.
Fresh scars, something that presses and he says.
I was beautiful, see, the concrete cuts through
Where his dirt-belt once held buckles
Of silver and turquoise cowboys
See where his boots once hit the ground like thunderous herds
Fashioned with spurs of copper and gold
Shadowed by a Stetson of bright blue, big as the sky,
I'm sure you can still hear him sigh, in every gust of wind,
I was beautiful, before this, and he pulls a hand up,
That shivering, gray hand, crumbling limestone and coal
And reaches desperately for the West
Jane is an anthropology student who identifies herself through her Missouri upbringing and love for all things history. She has been writing since she was little, but poetry is a fairly new pursuit and outlet for all those things art and speaking just can’t seem to grasp.