Steven DaLuz   © 2015 All Rights Reserved

Hawk Like a Steeple


Sitting at the crest of Waterworks Hill
we decided we’d never get married.
I spread my arms to say just this.
You’d already left every home for me.

It was the most Quaker wedding,
simple, you and me in our coats
looking south over a new April
stranger-town. Held a branch
behind your back like a bone,
ate strands of each other’s hair—
no ring or witness.

Our mothers want us to be mothers
and your father, who has been so dead
is not dead to me. I tell him quietly
you won’t be anyone’s wife. Silence
can’t help but sing the coal trains
in their couplings through the valley.

 

 

Alicia Mountain
Copyright © 2015  

Alicia Mountain is a poet and activist. She earned her MFA at the University of Montana. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Barrow Street, Witness, Cactus Heart, and A&U Magazine. She is the recent recipient of an Academy of American Poets College Prize.


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