Prairie Sure
September 05, 2012
I love the images in this poem by Carol Light, of Washington
state.
Prairie Sure
Would I miss the way a breeze dimples
the butter-colored curtains on Sunday mornings,
or nights gnashed by cicadas and thunderstorms?
The leaning gossip, the half-alive ripple
of sunflowers, sagging eternities of corn
and sorghum, September preaching yellow, yellow
in all directions, the windowsills swelling
with Mason jars, the blue sky bluest borne
through tinted glass above the milled grains?
The dust, the heat, distrusted, the screen door
slapping as the slat-backed porch swing sighs,
the hatch of houseflies, the furlongs of freight trains,
and how they sing this routine, so sure, so sure—
the rote grace of every tempered life?
2 comments
Hi Kathy,
ReplyDeleteCarol's poem is beautiful. I really love the ones that you chose to put on here. They all speak to my soul.
Kathy M.
Thank you, Kathy. I'm so glad you like them, because I choose only the ones that mean mean something to me.
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