Cowboy, Come Home

He is a toy cowboy on a horse 

and is dragged off into the sunset 

while my stuffed bunny heart 

waits in the backdrop to be held. 


Our God is the small Girl who hides 

under beds when yelling strikes. 

When She cries, we wait for Her 

and hope that the weather calms. 


What can my cotton heart say 

to a Girl who can barely walk? 

How to beg for a new purpose 

while I lay stuck in Her childhood. 





Sawyer Fell


18 years old

More by Sawyer Fell

  • On Being Vane

    Somewhere between a flower and a coffin
    lies the colorless sunrise outside your windows.
    I am devoted and still breathing like the Elin.
    You are innocent and still sleeping like the Pothos.

  • As She Pleases

    To be a woman
    is to be a banquet.
    Eclectic, savory, distinguished.
    A summer potluck of femininity;
    a Thanksgiving toast to masculinity;
    an Easter brunch with androgyny.