PoetryRepairShop -- Contemporary International Poetry 

Look how you caress Wade Mountain,
so white and gray gainst the green,
so damp heavy, wet with rain for pastures.
O How you crowd the slopes,
run your fingers through the trees!

ii
Rich and green, my lawn;
my house, darkened eaves,
thirsty foundation sucking
water from the earth.
We could have been good
farm and farmer, my land
and I were it not for subdivisions.

iii
Wheat, corn, soy, okra, peas.

iv
John Deere up and down
the easy hills, cutting
long scars into the earth.
I look up at Wade Mountain,
at the clouds, missing
the sight of a steep bank.
We overturn, John Deere and I,
at the end of a furrow:  a curlicue.

v
Only the peak of Wade Mountain
and a wisp of cloud,
the children are crying
and mama asks "does it hurt much"?
Mostly John Deere and I
wondering how my land could have
sold for a subdivision.

vi
Victory garden, streets, cul-de-sac.

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