Robert A. Fink
Mrs. Mary Clack Recounts The First Night Of Her Family’s Journey West, Camped On Rock Creek
So many stones to pillow dreams–
Jacob’s angels climbing ladders,
guardians I like to think.
They must get weary
keeping track of all the places
where a child will set its foot–
in a river, wedged between two rocks,
mouth of the panther’s den,
the rattler’s diamond back.
Always off the beaten path, suddenly
swallowed in solitude. I lay down.
I prayed the Lord our souls to keep.