Grass

Sometimes it helps homesickness to write poetry, no matter how simple the poetry. Yesterday was a beautiful day here, and for five sweet minutes before the sun set over the buildings and I got too cold, I sat on a chair with a pad of paper and pen. And I breathed in, and smelled something familiar.

The smell of fresh-cut grass reminded me of childhood days in Oklahoma and South Dakota, and how I miss those Midwestern scenes and people and smells.

Frans and I hope to visit Oklahoma and South Dakota soon(birthplaces of my parents and therefore the homes of my grandparents for their entire lives)…to capture some of those people and ways that are still holding on.

 

Sweet grass takes me

To green pastures

Larger than life skies

Two story haymows upon which we perch

Squawking like crows

Playing up in the sky above

Adult heads.

A slide down, a musky basement smell, cool

Smiling permed ladies and cowbooted men,

And a hotdog and Jello salad balancing the scales of a paper plate.

January-June 2010 316

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