It was our banter and retort:
I’d email to you,‘Whyoming?’
‘Oming indeed,’ you replied.
Now, I slug syllables
and the wind stirs ashes in the western sky
empty of you, your grin.
How dull this stuff is
without the roast of your sly reply!
So, what’s the mailto of that narrow
dirt room you lie in?
Of all I wanted to come home to
when I came back from the world,
you were the one, you were the crux,
my waggish Who-oming sister,
who reduced my poems with lively smirks.
Sister, where were you, when I came home.
I say to sagebrush and rock ‘Why.’
but hear no ‘Oming,’
echo or mockery.
The ash twilight is dull.
So, what’s the URL for hereafter.gon?
I want to tell you, if your Jesus
will lift you from the comfort
of your gravel bed,
the wit of our joke has gone wrong.
I fancy your rejoinder,
so certainly you, I hear you say:
“Pun’s done.”
Where may I tweet you
how empty the air is?
Home of Have, Poems by Lee Robison 
Simply far from simple. I laughed, then tears literally came to my eyes, then I laughed again. Nice job!
LikeLiked by 1 person
This is beautiful and very well written. Really reads like a conversation of sorts but at the same time it contains a lot of complexity and abstraction!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you.
I read several of your poems last night. Liked some of them and went back today to “Rescinded Daughter.” You takes chances with it’s telling, and I’m not sure I am on board with all of them.
But, what the hey, when a maker makes, trust her.
You write some wonderful poetry and “Daughter” is a fine poem. I hear a faint tinnitus of Plath’s “Daddy” in it. But only very faintly.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I liked this a lot.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Paige . . . . This is THE Paige, right? Early 70s, continental divide, building fence, A horse named Mr. Dillon who taught you all about the lie of Mr. Ed and Roy’s horse Trigger. You’re that Paige, right?
Anyway. When that Paige says she likes something a lot, it is high praise. Thanks.
LikeLike