Leaving
She walked slowly
bare toes curling into soft earth
a yellow dandelion in each hand
She touched the dandelion to her nose and made
her nose all yellow put out a small tongue
and tasted the shining dewdrop
She climbed the hill beside her house
and saw long wire fences
telephone poles
and far across dark fields
a water tower
Later, later when she had learned
to count, and tell direction she could name
the places marked by tall red elevators
From her hillside she could see
five villages and the distant town
one day she knew she would climb higher
One day she’d find a way
to walk to the place where two bright rails
joined and tipped over the farthest edge
One day, she knew, she’d be old enough
to ride by herself across the prairie
go to the distant city, where from
a roof top she could see mountains
One day, she did, and swung in a gondola
high above the city, high above the land
where fields of yellow wheat, pale green poplar
and lavender flax flowers bloomed, where the grey
road bent through the valley, and the fences
disappeared over the horizon
At the far edge, the farthest edge
the mountain broke the long curve
she must climb higher, so she did
and found, another mountain
on the other side, and another, until
she grew bolder, flew , farther and farther
westward, ever westward, through the long
day, and through nights, nights of her learning
days of restless wonder, through years
She rested, rested on the farthest edge
beyond the mountains, rested on the long white line
where green water met the evening sun
rested and knew this was the place
