West Wind
Tickle me with flower sweetness
lift my hopes little dreamer.
You come with the sun
breathless, then fervor,
playful prairie wind.
Darkness
reclaims your vigor
and coolness
holds my cloak until
the morrow
when foolishness returns
and curses cannot calm you.
PRAIRIE ROCK CROSSING
At the bottom of the rock pile
Covered by soil and late arrivals
The smell of sweat and aches
Rises like a spirit from that heap
Old Philip was under it all
A support that all us family got.
Men and boys struggling
To make a field fit for a plow
Rooting up points smaller than a fist
Yet sharper than rough lament
Of “work too hard.” Still, buoyed
Forward by savage memories,
Rock piles we made.
Points we saved as trophies
Yet, did not, could not honor them.
We did not understand the land,
It grew wheat, made bread,
A sacramental companion to wine.
Russian wheat and Deutsch
Sent west to replace a bison herd
With pointed steeple and iron cross
Thus Peter became the new rock
But rejected prairie stones ascended
To anchor a father’s dream.
Nobody Hero
Iraq
rookie bonus
medical care payment---
lifetime VA visits . . . no legs
attached.