The following are part of a book-length poem entitled “Chain Link Fence,” Patti White’s latest publication.  



Lucy stands on the road under a chalky sky
watching open fields of grain bend to the wind,
listens for a kiss of tires, a buzz or tick or rustle,
the sound of a breath passing through wire. She
listens. Hears nothing. And is so grateful.



And she wakes from her bed of broken glass, tasting
summer grasses on her breath, cool ashes in her throat,
a sense of having fallen like a meteor, like Hiroshima,
like a cliff giving way beneath her. Wakes with words
threaded in a spiral on her lips, swaddled in images ah
sheets of fencing rolled and stored away, dreams falling
like diamonds from the sky, a kind of awful grace.

Patti White

Published in Chain Link Fence, Anhinga Press, 2013.