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| by Paula Lietz |
Squint
i.
I want to talk about the bonnets, she wants
to talk about the deer.
The winter road to her farm crests higher,
dips lower with approaching dark.
There, where the county road T's
with the road to Pryor, last night's meadow
was filled with grazing deer, and spotted with light beams
bouncing from her Jeep. If you knew how to squint,
she tells me, the deer looked like stick figures
etched on a limestone wall. For a moment,
we were both inside that cave.
ii.
My cell phone rings. Someone's car
won't start. Someone needs a lift.
What sound do you hear
when you try to start it?
Silence, he tells me, nothing but
silence when I turn the key.
This is what I want.
iii.
The Chinook was bending
prairie grass along the highway ditch.
Our car bucked the headwind.
Up ahead, one abandoned homestead.
Tumbleweeds bounced west to east
across the barren stretch.
There, for a moment: between the collapsed
wood shed and the garden plot,
two sisters in bonnets
and three brothers chasing hats.
i.
I want to talk about the bonnets, she wants
to talk about the deer.
The winter road to her farm crests higher,
dips lower with approaching dark.
There, where the county road T's
with the road to Pryor, last night's meadow
was filled with grazing deer, and spotted with light beams
bouncing from her Jeep. If you knew how to squint,
she tells me, the deer looked like stick figures
etched on a limestone wall. For a moment,
we were both inside that cave.
ii.
My cell phone rings. Someone's car
won't start. Someone needs a lift.
What sound do you hear
when you try to start it?
Silence, he tells me, nothing but
silence when I turn the key.
This is what I want.
iii.
The Chinook was bending
prairie grass along the highway ditch.
Our car bucked the headwind.
Up ahead, one abandoned homestead.
Tumbleweeds bounced west to east
across the barren stretch.
There, for a moment: between the collapsed
wood shed and the garden plot,
two sisters in bonnets
and three brothers chasing hats.
Sherry
O’Keefe, a descendent of Montana pioneers and a
graduate of MSU-B, is the author of Making
Good Use of August (Finishing Line Press). Her most current work has
appeared or is forthcoming in Untitled
Country Review, Camas, Switched-on Gutenberg, THEMA, Terrain.Org, PANK, Avatar
Review, Fifth Wednesday Journal, Prick of the Spindle, Inkwell, Pirene’s
Fountain, Tygerburnin, The High Desert Journal and Main Street Rag. Currently working on a full collection, Cracking Geodes Open, she is the poetry
editor for Soundzine. Come talk with
her: http://www.toomuchaugust.wordpress.com
I don't know if it is cellular memory, overhearing family stories, reading fiction or a previous life but I respond to such scenes with a sense of having been there. So many of your poems are vehicles for that journey. Thank you. xo
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