Gail Wawrzyniak
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Badlands

2/8/2014

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Previously published by InterBoard Poetry Community, 2014.

Badlands

Ribbons of heat
lift a red-tailed hawk
to circle the crevasse.

Eleven trees,
branches bare, stand
gnarled and wind-worn.

Set the sun. Silhouette,
jagged and strange.
It’s too late. Seared.
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    Gail Wawrzyniak

    It could be what happened on my last vacation, a national news event, a single line from one of the many books in my bookshelves, or a personal remembrance.  


    All of these are the histories from which I tell stories.    

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