Lucy Cole Gratton
TWELVE GAUGE
They say she is crazy
sitting on her front porch,
shotgun across her knees.
Seven times they tried;
seven times she said no;
last time shots were fired.
The state needs the right-of-way,
to go around will cost millions;
to destroy is all she understands.
Home, all of her life,
now dowdy and ill-kept;
what could it be worth –
these acres of huge oaks,
hemlocks’ cooling shade,
rare wildflowers strewn along the creek?
Her home.
Her way of life;
here is reassurance,
refuge for bear,
sanctuary for deer,
canopy home to wings.
Author’s Comment: A phone call from my sister one night, after viewing a piece on the national news about an older women, shotgun on her lap, defying local authorities from taking her property for a new highway, initiated this poem. That and the comment from her, that there was her sister some years hence. I admit to acutely empathizing with this woman and would certainly cheer her on in her efforts.
Wild Goose Poetry Review 