Homeplace by Jo McDougall


Awake while you sleep,

I tie and untie the strings

of what went wrong:

the farm auctioned, my father buried in Minnesota,

you and I alone

in a rented room.



I remember my father when I was six

pushing open a gate on the farm road,

stirring the dust of August.

The locusts sizzling in the grass,

a hum of dragonflies hanging sleepy above us.

Comments

  1. Beautiful and I love the photo too.

    ReplyDelete
  2. sizzling locusts--always a sign things are gonna go bad wrong.

    ReplyDelete

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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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