Round the Rowley Mile

I’m tempted to walk
down the road near
my house into mares’
muck beyond the village
lights & breathe into
the possibility
of escape God
says, Do what you like,
of course, but take
provisions I rummage
through the pantry, night
dress stained with milk, sore —
maybe peanut butter,
but that’s it When I go,
I want to be full
of ecstasy The point
is to empty the body
like a trough punched
clean by bullets God
says, Maybe you’re right
And so, on and on
the horses keep going

ξ

Shannon Elizabeth Hardwick's work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Gulf Coast, Salamander Magazine, Frontier Poetry, MAGMA Poetry, The Texas Observer, Four Way Review, The Missouri Review, and Passages North, among others. Hardwick serves as the poetry editor for The Boiler Journal.