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From The Desert Mothers: ShodAt a steady pace below the moonthe cotton-soled tread of our carterspad-pads across a waste of grit and boulders.
Cart-wheels revolve with constellationsall night through.
Soon wives at home will wake to stitch and counter-stitch the soles for next month’s trek
holding the shape of a husband’s footsteady in one hand.
Click on the poem title to read the next excerpted poem from Turning Over in a Strange Bed.