Phalanx of One by Cheney Crow


You can’t sow words
in a field and grow truth.
The trace of his
burned the hearth.

No phoenix rose, only magpies,
jays, screech owls like madmen
tearing down hills.

We formed an army of one and half,
retreating, I with my child and suitcase,
from this mountain,
the valley fields ripe with color,
toned to each season,
fresh turned earth.

A burial. A dolmen.
Cheney Crow received a BA from Sarah Lawrence College and MFA from Warren Wilson College. Her poems have appeared in The Cortland Review and Terminus Magazine. She lives in Austin, Texas.