|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
|Cassandra Observes the Midwestern Landscape in September
Cattails, thistle, white windmills turning,
the tindered/tendered zea mays.
In one field, the harvest beginning
with a green machine as loud as her own destiny,
crushing eardrum chaff, sending kernels
in a golden stream reminiscent of Ajax
relieving himself after the act.
Ditches and slopes of wild sunflower, white
carrot and yellow parsnip, ragweed.
The rusty torches of druping sumac.
And there, the plot of white stones
on a small rise where once a church crumbled
and a prairie resurrected itself.
All the beauties she’ll not see
when the blood comes pouring down
over her open eyes.
About Kathleen Kirk