137/365: The Dry Cuckoo

moving car panorama

They drove into a land with wide swaths of trees,
ponds of water dotting rocky soil,
drier bark leaning into green wood
deep enough to fold into distant dark,
and she reckoned the accident of her birth.
She had flown too far,
overshot the stretch of hills and trees and water,
and landed in a flat space
mowed, ploughed, and dry,
fell to ground that ran off to an endless horizon
and sucked her out,
vacuumed her dry,
planting its cuckoo in her belly.

Within her chest
within the fast car,
she felt the green wood's sudden pulse
against what dust remained
and vowed survival.

#365poems at Schmutzie.com

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