Colorado

Shadows fall across an old railyard.

Dust sticks to faded boots and Levi’s

as I swallow salty iron air -- that reddish grit,

tasted in teeth, its homestead roots.

Pieces of night begin to gather around rusted nails and metal grates splattered with paint and cheap beer.

I exist here.

Maybe the tracks lead straight into the Rocky Mountains where I’ll find God and the Devil tangled up above the timberline.

or maybe

it stops 1,000 miles west at the coast where a California gold miner will whisper through missing teeth and a crackling campfire that a semi-divine beast made the stars.

But I'm small.

I am no one

and I'm everyone 

who came before me.

No one and everyone who'll come next.

Maybe I know my name and a few chords on a broken guitar

and when the morning comes

I’ll cling to this dirty flannel jacket and the hope that 

the Son of Man still beats somewhere

inside my chest.

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

Such an engaging read, Meg. I'm a big fan of free verse and prose, and this is by far one of the best I've read today. Very impressive writing!