Two Miles to El Paso

By R.H. Nicholson

she stares into the searing sun

squinting through barbed wire

lips cracked from water

she drank

yesterday-

longing,

yearning,

praying

for a chink in the armor

a rupture in the membrane

a hole, perhaps, or

a gap

a schism

a slit-

stomach rumbling

stabbing spine,

blood-smeared hands,

splinters,

blisters,

dried tears,

and a chance…

 

R.H. Nicholson taught writing for forty years but is now (finally) focused on his own work which has appeared in Cool Beans, Ignatian Magazine, Adelaide Literary Journal, Echo Ink, The Blue Lake Review, The Back Porch, Big Window Review, and elsewhere. He and his wife live in a small Ohio River Valley town with their geriatric cat Fezziwig. Visit his website thecountyquirk.com.