I follow deer trails across morning fields.
Cheat grass seeds cover my socks,
determined to travel.

Strangers touch, minds go blank,
dark promise comes alive.

Cold nests, starving fledglings.
Desperate mother brings home tainted food.

Nearby feral dogs wake, circle closer.

Blame their wicked ghost paws,
rabid spirits, howling and magnetic.

Blame our own stories grown thin and untold,
leaving us to dry and crumble.

We¹ve been good and lost, but we¹re found now.
And we lay claim to this life we fought for.

To the good men who love us,
the close friends who hold us steady.

To the bold children who are our hearts,
the vast earth which is our soul.

Peace, so unfamiliar we hardly knew its name,
is often with us now.

Grace drifts by and throws a kiss.

I wore a red hat to your wedding,
danced on the muddy grass.

Wild seeds need only a rumor of rain
to send out pale reaching roots.

Clouds of geese shift direction,
vanish in the mist.

(Victory is a board member of the Washington Poets Association. Read about the chapbooks she’s published here.)