The Savage
By Beth Miller
The savage lays her head on the pillow
Finally resting after a day of constant movement
She sleeps on the ground and eats sitting on rocks.
Her hair is a mess--it’s been days since she gave it any attention
Sinks and showers and flushing toilets are unheard of
Soap and shampoo are foreign objects
Changing clothing because of dirt is preposterous
Her heavy boots are wet and caked with mud
She swaggers and trods and plods over rocks and dirt
The loons and mosquitoes and water and wind sing her to sleep.
But tomorrow
She will shower and wash her hair
She will shave her legs
She will put on a clean dress and dainty shoes
She will eat fresh food and meat, sitting at a table
She will glide across smooth floors
She will sleep in a soft bed between four solid walls
The interstate traffic and neighbors and appliances will be her bedtime noise.
She will leave behind the savage
To rejoin civilization.