##### Our Lady of the Ozarks Mary surprises where the byways wind Along the Boston Mountains in the blind. Such things are new to me. I don’t know how To act as I drive by: a cross? A bow? Across from Sky-Vue Lodge, she gazes long Past grassy trails of tears and war gone wrong. I thought I saw old Pound a few miles back; He’d given up his front of pure attack. He drove a tractor, bent beneath the crows, Away from shrines and anything that glows. It seems he’d given up the ancient arts To see why his friend Bill preferred red carts. I tried to stop and say, “You saved me, Ez— Like how that canto with the grass blade says.” But then, he just pretended not to hear And let the wind speak as he paused mid-gear. His denim shirt revealed a weathered chest; He muttered low, “Oh let an old man rest.” One has to ask sometimes, in thrusts of pain: When will the world take up its course again? Still stands Our Lady—beauty at what cost? Ceramic ash: one touch, and all is lost.

##### Three Sisters
*after Cisneros* Mangoes never grow in Bella Vista. That place where caves crack down the middle for highway loops is where they settled down for good. Katherine wagged a finger. Marie blinked in code. June was always smiling. They knew, they knew: life becomes a circle. Then they left. Now I want them, more than ever, to hold me all at once—once more— before they send me out the back door into that little forest in the middle of a cul-de-sac, running ‘round in lazy eights all day before my uncle calls me home.

##### A True Grit Sonnet She never meant to end up at the Fort. It left her feeling cold and lifeless there. But love and thirst for vengeance drew her where Her father lost his life in idle sport. She was too young to grasp the last resort That those who live in desperation dare To take upon themselves—a gasp for air Before the stifling grip of Parker’s court. So when she stood near Belle Point, fresh with grief, And watched the gallows holding tight its breath, She didn’t know where to direct her eyes Until they caught the edge of a belief In something not quite permanent as death But no less true than her faith could devise.