Nor Easter
by e. campbell



dirt tries to hold on to the earth
as wind blows across both our land

harshness erodes at the surface
carrying it high and low, carving out
bends and edges, scattering

I watch it tug at your pasture skimming
off the top, not like a refiners fire
instead this golden earth is on top
not sinking, it's floating
away, separating from the elemental

you're not there to see the destruction
pulled out days ago, let the cattle graze
on winter grass, too much

they ate it down to the earth
carelessly abandoned you want
my land and my pastures

I see your hilltop across the prairie
brown, dead, empty
nothing precious left for your cattle to eat

I'm holding on even if the grass and weeds
get waist high, deer will come in herds,
bed down, graze easily like the days before,
you were born

the hawk will hunt, squirrels will hide
and birds will eat, the weak
will be selected—naturally

and on that day it will be good.





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

Copyright by Dallas Poets Community. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.