Sightseeing with the dead
Another 40 miles
of splattered bugs on the windshield
and gravel down below.
I curl my hand
around the urn with grandma's ashes,
watching for a turnoff,
a sparkle past the sand.
South Dakota daughter,
child of farm and prairie,
you never saw the sea.
But you told me,
sometimes,
that you'd imagine the fields
were water,
the crows
seagulls.
Ah, but dreams have a way
of being swept behind
the cupboard door,
don't they?
Seven children,
thirty head of cattle,
more darning and baking
in one week than I'll do
all my life -
they rooted you.
But now we are free,
both of us -
me from my fears,
you from your duties.
So I'll take you with me,
farther away than you ever went before,
away from the prairie,
away from home,
away to the ocean
you always longed to see.
In the rushing waves
I hear the wind
dancing through the wheat.
Posted by rachel at September 7, 2005 04:55 PM
You are such a gifted writer, Rachel. Beautiful.
Posted by: Rachel Stratford at September 7, 2005 06:29 PM