Heartland
It’s hard to do justice to the Missouri
corn fields that stand everywhere and forever
their endless rows of sturdy, erect stalks
whispering sweet corny nothings in our collective ear.
This simple plant that fed our emerging species
-saved it really with its eagerness to flourish-
left time for the growth of art and music
governments and corruption
and sustains us still,
will be there when all else fails.
It’s hard to do justice to the insistent
Missouri crickets,
-or are they grasshoppers and cicadas-
that incessantly holler and screech
their urgent warnings, predictions,
advice, and pleadings
whether we heed them or not.
And the moisture!
Heavy veils of dampness
cocooning all the rest of it,
urging the grasses to grow
as thick and rich as carpet,
blades as wide as a thumb,
roots a tangled, jumbled mess.
A kernel of himself knowing
just how and where to do it,
my city-loving son has taken himself
to this land of corn
and crickets and watery air
to grow.
It’s hard to do justice to my feelings of
gratitude and amazement
that he has chosen a place of palpable growth
- a heartland –
to sustain himself
to heed his own warnings
to grow tall and thick and sturdy
to root himself in his own tangled, jumbled mes s.
poem copyright 2009 Ruth Hudgens
photo copyright 2009 BRowland
