they will lift
a future bread
from oven earth
its door opening upward
like a storm cellar
or a trapdoor in a theatre
and they will begin by kneeling
in the clods with their tractors
idling
and when they break the dirt-loaves
to find the darker-damp pocket inside
they will smile
they still know
that the dust will come up
before anything else
but winter long
their faith will see
that levitating grain
with her dirty blond hair falling
toward the sky
and not a stage
21 September 2012
Winter Wheat
they will lift
a future bread
from oven earth
its door opening upward
like a storm cellar
or a trapdoor in a theatre
and they will begin by kneeling
in the clods with their tractors
idling
and when they break the dirt-loaves
to find the darker-damp pocket inside
they will smile
they still know
that the dust will come up
before anything else
but winter long
their faith will see
that levitating grain
with her dirty blond hair falling
toward the sky
and not a stage
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Great, great imagery here. That first stanza is a stunner.
ReplyDeleteHey Amber,
DeleteThank you for your generous comment. In early drafts I was trying to work within a more formal/metrical structure - but the poem kept pushing back and out. And the necessary line breaks finally won the day from the dullard writer.
Hope all is well on your end.
Cheers,
B.R.