She wishes she were a tree.
Plant an acorn, it grows roots.
A second marriage. A second chance
transplants her to the southwest.
Gold sun burns
a clear bluebonnet sky.
Hard glare, poison,
the darkest-tint, sunglass medicine.
Clap, clap, clap, clap
Deep in the heart of Texas
Where a scorpion hidden in a baby shoe
raises its tail like a white flag.
Shake the shoe outside, both win.
A bobcat in a tree tenses to leap,
the horse smells danger, veers.
Prairie roses grow huge as jack rabbits.
Canna blooms erupt in vibrant rock and mineral colors.
Urban cowboys hike up a peak
to a grand four state overlook,
heat irons the hair under Stetsons.
The sage in bloom is like perfume
Girls read adventure stories and play
lead action parts without a stunt man.
Popular girls and geeks join the same club,
laugh, sing and work as sisters.
Where women don’t seek a princess-bride-marriage for solace.
Friends don’t evaporate in half-light like dew.
A live-oak planted in the front yard grows tall.
In a tree dream,
she moves in, stays put.
Her marriage grows leafy.
The stars at night are big and bright
in wet grass
Intertext: June Hershey’s lyrics: Deep in the Heart of Texas, music by Dan Swander, 1942
Ingrid Bruck lives in Pennsylvania Amish country, a landscape that inhabits her poetry. A retired library director, she writes short forms and poetry. She writes a monthly column, “Pearl Diving,” featuring online writer resources for Between These Shores Books and serves on the BTSA editorial team. Some current work appears in Failed Haiku, Heron’s Nest and Verse-Virtual.