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Justin Rutledge
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A Letter to Heather
My love, you move and the whole garden moves
with the blood and the cross and the lamb
Oh, let boys be boys and girls be girls
But, honey, let me be your man
Do you live in the sand of a snow-colored land
where the ghosts of your grandparents blow?
Where the houses roll like barber poles
to the hills where it's always ten-below?
When I dream, I'm awake with your kids on the lake
and the leaves that the summer has outgrown
The clotheslines fail like a lost breadcrumb trail
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Think of me and these letters made of bone
Am I cursed? Am I blessed? With my head on your breast
and my mind on the slightest thing you do
My highway home ain't made of stone,
but of tears, and a second glance from you
My love, you move and the whole garden moves
with the blood and the cross and the lamb
With the blood and the cross and the lamb
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