Texas
The real country boys
sip wine straight
from the bottle.
They remember when
the grapes were crushed
and Jose cut his arm
on the door. . ..
-the wasp bites.
Texas is a harsh place.
Nothing grows
here but
by sheer respect,
by venomous virtue
of life sprung from
deep wild roots
flung out among
wildcats’ cries and
desiccation,
wasted wishes,
almosts,
coulda beens,
streams that
nearly made it
to the ocean
but trickled out.
We begin again
and again here.
It is a holy spring
surrounded by
a sentinel
of bones.
Trier Ward is a mother, poet, and scientist. She grew up as an Air Force brat living around the world and has lived in Albuquerque, New Mexico for the last seven years. She performs at several open mics in the area including Voices of the Barrio. Her interests include the arts, social activism, and wildlife rehabilitation. Her poetry has appeared in The Nervous Breakdown, Bohemia, Chachalaca Review, and Mad Swirl. She is the author of two collections of poetry: Bruises and Love Bites (Penhall Publishing, 2014) and the Hollowscape (Penhall Publishing, 2016). Her work explores the lyrical, elemental, and experiential. Find her on Instagram @trierward.
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