Friday, March 20, 2020

My Heart Is Far Away

My Heart Is Far Away

Sitting on the front stoop
Of my suburban New Jersey home.
Middlemarch propped on my knee,
The provincial world of old England
Calling my heart back
To a place far less elegant.

My heart traverses over a thousand miles
To see that impossibly big sky
Expansive over the wide flat plains
Where I can see horizon to horizon,
Its rough beauty unknown to most but precious to me.

There’s a pungent whiff of cow manure
Carried on the south wind,
Unpleasant but not to my nose.
The south wind whipping hard
Knifing between the buttons of my coat
Transformed into a balm
In my memory.

Most precious is
The little ranch house
Opposite the open field
Humble and sturdy as its inhabitants
Who my heart longs for most.

[All this horror has this me back writing poetry again. Maybe shielding the nation from my awful verse will get the government to act.]

1 comment:

Ceci said...

it's not awful - it's good!