Upward, through the field she went.

Traveling westward, toward the sun.

Memories passed as she fasted for three days and seven nights outside of the trailer in the back yard.

No food or shelter, just poke-salad.

The dropping venom-nectar of nostalgia is a love truck waiting to knock you off course or to take you home.

Sit alone in your garden and think about it.

And when you eat pomegranates, or tell stories to your children...

think of me.