from blue fields, black dress

she’s a grown ass man

her tears will stain
the sleeves of her sweater
between the cotton-fibers
but she smiles
as she cries
and tells me of a dream
she had before
and still has

when she tells me,
I believe her
because more than the rest,
she honors love

devastation rocks her
to the core,
stirring the molten soup of
the soul.
but her hope burns hot
and bright, casting shadows
on the shadows
and blinding all those
who would stare