in a cooler, wetter, lusher era
prairie dropseed rolled over hills in a seafoam green
clumps, more wisps than blades, tapering to peaks white like
a dash of invigorating salt flung clean into the air
a glare so bright the world could only be observed through slits
the spray once raised when ocean waters encountered coastal reefs
flowing across them in a pattern of woosh_pause_woosh_pause
as soothing as a field of native grasses stirred by a late summer breeze
Heard this author interviewed on the New Books Network and had to write a poem to cope with the emotions.
Broken-Promise Land
an aquifer is rain and snowmelt soaked in over eons
a slowly-filtered journey through sand, shale, silt
arriving at last to rest on rock
confined by an impermeable layer
the promise of unseen water waiting to be tapped
an underground ocean that beckoned to my greats
westward in Conestogas for the chance to farm for themselves
even if what they would call home was poorly built out of sod
water swelling their Bartels farms into Winside towns into Lincoln cities
feels like straightened postures, unbowed backs
Now the dowsers’ rods remain stubbornly steady
wells pump dust, pipes stretch downward connected to tapped out
where wheat once rose– animals confined on feedlots
the kids move to town, the grandchildren to the city
the great-grands drive U-Hauls back East or farther West
it’s the one percent who get to determine what constitutes fair use
my impotency is like watching an heirloom drinking glass
knocked off a counter by a careless elbow
knowing the harm it will cause if it shatters
being unable to stop the sound of the heart-sickening crash
