SHE PRAYS TO RICHARD HUGO
She prays to Dick Hugo about two things,
and though she knows she shouldn't have done it,
she peeled back a gray strip of bark, shedding
from the old, sleeping White Maple that sits
over his grave at the cemetery.
She read the epitaph on his tombstone,
picked a pebble the size of a berry,
put it in her mouth, sang, and ate stone.
That night, a cowboy, both young and handsome,
tipped his hat, smiled, and requested a date
to the rodeo, and though she left town
before she was able to claim her fate,
she sees it all as a definite sign,
the stone and the bark, the man and the rhyme.