Prairie Poetry   

There is an element of ground in her,
A place where the soil reaches up as she passes overhead,
A kind of fusion, one holding to the other.
A magnet’s pull, a metal, salt.
What binds them together?
Even she doesn’t know, sitting on the faded porch in the fading light,
Shoes off, rubbing her sore foot,
from instep to toe to outer edge to heel,
feeling a rough ridge of skin and circling back,
Going over and over it,
wishing it smooth and soft
like packed earth.

  Rhonda Lundquist
  Copyright © 2006 Rhonda Lundquist
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