Oklahoma Homecoming

The chalky roads stretch among

the blackjacks, their summer cobalt skies

burdened with the weight of barn swallows.

Climbing the hills outside city limits,
farmers toss hay up to the rafters
a spit for each bale, wiping their foreheads
with red kerchiefs, stuffing antique bottles in their pockets.
 

If you’re from California you search for Redwoods
amongst the cedar trees bleeding sap
on this early June day, the breeze knotting
your hair, buffalo staring from every grassland.
 

Beyond a hedgerow of Bois d'arcs,
knee deep in blackberries and devilish scissor tails
a combine shuts down, its cab
curls up for a sun bath.
 

I know that. I want to tip over my engine,
let crickets carve a hole in my threshing drum
become a useless object in the underbrush
buzzing with warbles, drifting with pollen

put my arm around some little old woman,

braid her hair as cars drive by like safaris,
like I’ve dreamed of safaris and jumping on the back
of a blue wildebeest. But I keep driving with my hand cupped
in the wind, cradling the sunset like a dying bird.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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