Rolling in the Heather
By: Hunter Christian
Mother, no scolding needed
Father’s leather lashed my back
The honor of the conceded
Broken upon the rack
Four cord, the wood I cut
Splinters in my fingers, canteen in my pack
My boot, the sole, the mud, the rut
Of self-reliance, ensured defiance, I have a knack
No “if’s,” no “and’s,” just “what’s?” and such
Lover, meet me in the field
For covers, tote my flannels
From the nail in the wood panel
And, the love we\'ve concealed
I, roll her body over
I, felt her body yield
Amidst, sweet heather, pens, feathers and clover
Naked in that moonwashed field
Farmer, in earnest you till and toil
Of your son’s death, we learned of, we taught
The children how to be loyal
To eat, the trout, the walleye, shall be caught
To pray, to lay, to dance and sway
Gone, the night chases away the frightened day
Roll her in the heather
Two souls helplessly tethered
Of the storm they couldn\'t weather
It\'s just tradition, a societal condition, forced attrition
All because of faith in a myth, a folktale, a foolhardy superstition
The Kansas wind blows the heather
The field lies silent
The girl lies untethered
The retribution was violent
The field, the nothingness, the silence
Crimson stained heather sways
As remnants of the violence
As the complicit churchgoers pray
O’, how they pray
It’s Sunday
It’s faith day
It’s faith
Faith.