We eat land like cows

sucking a tit

relieving our bladders.

When earth falls away into cold slate waters,

the children forget their inside voices

and scream.


My heart is a plot of land

don’t we love owning the patches of each other?

Spots on the back of a neck you’ll never see,

red patches, earth

mapping from above

the homestead

I stick my fingers in to.

Move the varicose veins pulsing,

fan the lung fibers branching,

churn up the underair.


Dreams keep telling me to fall

asleep between their legs

where fence posts no longer lie

past Amish grasses, plain life.

I stand on the water’s edge,

take off my skin,

scatter seeds

where they say most have drowned.


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2 Responses to Homestead

  1. Dear Rachel

    What a treat to find one of your poems here today; thank you! You’ve been warming up to it? I know I have, in waiting. In yesterday’s post, you wrote “. . .Maybe why I like poetry is because it doesn’t end like all other things end. It doesn’t have to close. One leads to another to another. It’s life that way. It’s real life. . . ” Homestead endorses this. It has the same brilliant lighting of your dreams, intensely focussed images with a dreamlike logic/illogic which is so how life is. Especially these strange days. My favourite lines are ‘Dreams keep telling me to fall / asleep between their legs.’ Lovely, lovely 😉

    Do this again some time?
    L, C xo

    • rachvb says:

      Wow. Thank you, dear Claire. I finished this one last month along with a few others. They are keeping themselves company and I’m working on more and more every morning. But I do at times keep them a secret. I want only the best for them and feel I have begun collecting them for something more perhaps. It’s good to let them out in the air though and breathe. I’m so glad you liked it.
      Yes, I’ll do it again and always =)

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