Prairie Winsome
Drive across Saskatchewan where the horizon
never changes, never rises, never falls. Fields of canola
as far as the eyes can see, uninterrupted by time,
parched for rain. A collection of tombstones cast
shadows, remind me of ancestors who travelled far
from the potato fields of Ireland. Soil baked, cracked dry
by the constant sun. One maple sits alone, its neighbour
down the dusty road 50 kilometers away.
© July 2019
No comments:
Post a Comment