| General Poetry
posted December 22, 2023 |
When things finally turn for the better
LandRise
Tumbleweed careens,
Skitters on yellow dirt
Sintered so hard
In the furnace of summer
That a pickaxe barely leaves a scratch.
Water runs
Over my annealed tongue
And drips straight out every pore.
Sweat drips pock the ground.
But the small, gnarled tree
I plant here
Stands bold and green.
I can feel the land
Begin to rise
After a long, dusty,
Hardscrabble time,
When hope dried out,
When shirtless men, like me,
Sweated
Over one last tiny tough stake.
Just as I stand up and
Bend back to face the world
Full on and proud,
Steel-bottom clouds
Belly out a tall sky
Puffing chilled air.
Pelting rain.
The curtain blows wet
At the window.
Static’s hairy tongue
Licks my spine.
A splitting
Crack-of-doom bolt
Comes quick as an accident.
Eyes flinch closed.
Thunder booms down
And echoes sharp
Off unseen hills.
I got it now.
That was the official announcement.
In ozone clarity,
I can see
The land begins to rise.
Ken Brody ©2001
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Coleche clay in Arizona is just that hard.
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Ken Brody
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Ken Brody
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