Surplus pine fence pickets make the cross,
her name scrawled down the arms,
a handful of flowers x-wired to the epicenter.
She left under a colossal sky, on land falling away to the canyon,
the road scarcely two lanes wide, within sight of town.
That June, the field would have been prolific with harvest’s promise.
Now, the marker towers over six weeds sprouting,
ragged and unwanted, in the sandy turnrow.
FM 656
Hall County, Texas
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