day still shrouded in darkness
heart beating wildly
in response to a frightening image
from a childhood dream
light shining through my bedroom doorway
from the kitchen
where my mom stood behind an ironing board
preparing for the day
in that quiet space
after Dad had gone to work
before the children woke
steam rising
board creaking as the iron moved
rhythmically back and forth
instantly calmed
I drifted back to sleep
I explored abandoned houses on the land
where my mom was born
huge expanse of sky and grass
horizons shaped for wind
to gather speed
gather dust or snow
horizons shaped to deceive
hiding river valleys with sand castles
disguising antelope frozen in place
creating a mirage of endless bison herds
tipis puncturing the skyline
trees new settlers on the grassland
"That tree wasn't there when I was little"
my aunt remarked when she saw the pictures.
"There were no trees."
she looked at the pictures of a little house
told me about the stairs up to the attic where she and her sister slept
told me where the back door would have been,
the back porch where my grandfather would sit in the weeks
after the horses had bolted
breaking his leg
remembered her mom standing in the kitchen
