Wild Berry Meadow You're headed for heaven

eulie dawn did not seem to mind the silence, not one bit. it came with most wild things—most women who had seen too much and said too little for too long.
she watched the amber, brown-coated stranger pluck the berry, soft and slow, as if waiting to be bitten by something other than sweetness. eulie dawn, already laid out like some stretched song across the meadow, just smiled faintly.
reckon you got a tongue for truth after all, she murmured, voice lilting like wind through reeds. sweet like a lie, that berry. but better on the teeth.
a pause, her eyes slanting up toward the fractured face, unbothered by the scars.
ain’t gotta talk, she said, soft now, half-lidded. most don’t. the land remembers what we don’t say. it holds the shape of every foot that’s fled, every throat that’s wept quiet. i just talk so it don’t get too loud in my own head.
she plucked another berry with her teeth and sighed like the day itself was getting heavy.
but if you ever feel like speakin’, i’ll be here.