Mary Robin Adamiak
Honorable Mention
Pray
Fear.
Dread.
Heart racing in my chest,
Thoughts chasing through my head,
Impressed he does not hear.
Will this breath be my last?
A worm beneath the bark,
The parting sheaves of grass,
A distant meadow lark;
Transformed now, every sound seems clearer…
But this shaking of the leaves is not the breeze.
Then the hunter ever nearer
Lifts his gaze up
To the trees.
