Badlands

by Gail Moran Wawrzyniack
The Write Idea
Second Place, January 2014
Judged by Robert Lee Brewer


Ribbons of heat
lift a red-tailed hawk
to circle the crevasse.

Eleven trees,
branches bare, stand
gnarled and wind-worn.

Set the sun. Silhouette,
jagged and strange.
It’s too late. Seared.


This poem takes a completely different tactic. While it still plays with sound in a subtle way, 'Badlands' succeeds in capturing a place on a grand scale through bringing together concise snapshots. The poem weaves together 3 independent images and throws in a moment of epiphany that is sure to spark discussion in the final line: 'It's too late.' --Robert Lee Brewer

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