Susan Of Morden by Dianne Buxton I was a year old, I wasn't a witness, But the family legend goes That one day the bull got out of the barn There was some consternation about this. Susan, then four, picked up a stick And chased him back into his stall. When my mother told me this, many years later, I didn't really think about it much. Did I believe it then? I don't remember. But I believe it now. The bull must have thought She was a two-legged grasshopper Or a wingless horse fly. But she had the stick. I never heard Uncle Bill contradict my mother on this. The Poplar leaves rustled, deafening, in the prairie wind Skittering, back-rubbing by the millions Flashing silver green sequins erupted with crows The matte blue sky waiting For the four o'clock shower.
Dianne M. Buxton’s poetry can be seen in Caveat Lector, The Griffin, and Sanskrit. A graduate of the National Ballet School of Canada and an alumnus of the Martha Graham School of Contemporary Dance in NYC, she retired from the dance world and now writes.
Beautiful imagery.
The arts are allied and so it is no surprise that Dianne, a talented dancer is also
a gifted poet.