Written for Tanka Tuesday where Robbie asks
us to write any form of poem to tell a story with
a beginning, a middle, and an end. Thanks to
Maureen for her from Thursday Door Challenge
photo. Here’s where the prompts took me.
The canvas has been lashed and tied,
the red barn locked, the doors pulled wide,
the wheels of oak and iron made
cast long and patient rings of shade.
She stood there in the morning cool,
a woman wise but sometimes fool,
who’d packed her whole life, bit by bit,
for a new world where she would fit.
The Conestoga held her days….
a quilt, a Bible, childhood stays,
a photograph of someone gone,
a reason still to carry on.
The trail ahead was gray and long,
the horses restless, hooves too strong,
the log shed watched with wizened eyes
as smoke dissolved in autumn skies.
She climbed the stair of weathered wood,
and touched the bow the way one would
who touches what they cannot name….
the wild that calls, the hearth that claims.
The leaves had just begun to turn,
the last of summer left to burn,
and somewhere past the line of trees
lay everything she dared to be.
The wagon rolled at half past nine,
beneath a blue and boundless line,
the red barn shrank, the log shed too,
until the green swallowed every view.
She did not look behind her long,
some griefs are kept by moving on,
and all the weight of what she’d known
became the road, became her own.
The canvas glowed like a lantern’s breath,
a small warm light between life and death,
and the wheels turned slow on the autumn ground….
She was finally westward bound.
NAR©2026
This is “Covered Wagon” by Miranda Lambert
Everything on The Elephant’s Trunk was created by me, unless otherwise indicated. Thanks for your consideration. NAR©2017-present.
The Elephant's Trunk 