At last, relief.

Watching her walk across the unkempt grass,
her right hand holding the wicker basket,
her left hand clearing the stray hairs from her eyes.
The tall grass attempts to to stick against her glowing skin
but can not get through the soft cotton skirt.
The plants grow wild the further she walks,
swallowing the path,
leaving her memory as her only guide.
Her skirt stained but her feet tracing the imprints left in the dried clay,
those imprints from the day the sky opened up.
Where she
hidden beneath a yellow barn,
her hands clapsed over a mouth,
prayers escaped her gently parted lips winding their way past the gripping fingers.
She watched that day as the ground grew to meet her knees,
her skirt flowing in the current.
Crying out at the falling sky,
that day she forgot more then just the words of a past life.