Without

I will find myself another town.
Without the need to dig my roots down.
I won't recognize the landscape there.
Safely inside the skin of a stranger.
I will walk into the local bar and drink the way I want, shoving my luck too far.
No one there will know my name.
I'll only be some women who came through the door without a plan, without a kid in tow, without a man.
Without a billfold or a change of clothes.
Without a car, without a place to go.
I will cut short, I will color my hair black.
I will inquire at the station about the job pumping gas.
There I'd be sure to meet plenty of travelling folk.
They've been abducted by the come-on of the open road.
Then I will trade my Grandma's brooch for the old guitar, I spied gathering dust in the corner at the pawn shop.
My inspiration will be the endless, the ever changing prairie sky.
I will sing to the masterpiece, to the painter up on high.
I came through the door without a plan, without a kid in tow, without a man.
Without a billfold or a change of clothes.
Without a car, without a place to go.