Rolling in the Heather

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.