Mary Ann Samyn First Poem

Dreams are where the untended fear goes,
said the scientists who explain even that and
in the dream I knew the dream was mine:
you wouldn't do that. And in the morning
I knew to make the maple bread,
studying the screen where all instructions live now,
tying my apron as a nod to the hope
I belong to the deer in the yard
as much as to myself; I belong to you.
Pioneer, I am forever readying
the day for the day. Watchful, yes,
and pressed to the wilderness of my choosing.


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