Selection 12 of
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Straw Man
by John Kent
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I live on this farm, head slightly tilted, arms thrust out, garments flapping in the wind; never yielding to a white, hot sun. Through sheets of thunder, winter white, bloom of spring, I'm always here; the world going by on dusting roads, gray tinged clouds and four-wheel drive. Sweat of toil nourishing soil, coaxing seed to sprout and grow, paying the heart at harvest time; birds circling 'round, screaming off. Faces changing, fade through years, hands remaining hard and strong. The land rising...sleeping ...rising; the sun coming up... and going down. |
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