Prairie Rower

Prairie Rower

‘Luke?  What are you doing?’
‘Rowing.’
‘With hay rakes?’
“I’m keeping in practice.”

Luke would be reminded to row
seeing the wheat in the fields
blowing in the breeze;
and trees set to motion

when a storm would begin
to brew, grow restless,
break over the land;
and the windshield wipers stroking,

rhythmically, the window of his truck.
At night, the rhythmic
click-clack of a passing
train would race across

the fields to him, row him
to sleep, row him to dream.
Once the harvest was in
he could return to the river, the river.

Philip Kuepper
25 March 2014

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