Dustbowl
Day rose clear
Blue beautiful.
Green too much
to ask, we didn't
Muddy sheets
torn from windows
to tubs, scrubbing
singing, our labor
in bubbles floating
Stretched arms and legs
pitiful grateful for sunlight
softened by rain, sweetness
of damp-rich air.
Five year old Andrew,
Dandelion-headed Jack
their cracked, bare feet
running circles spiraling dust
devils caught a butterfly.
Faces of wonder cauled
in red, wide-eyed laughing
at the wing-dust shimmering
omen streaking fingers
soon, too soon to be angels
Came the mountain
fast and black
across the plain.
From war's wheat-fallowed
fields, ten thousand feet
of dirt wept shrouds.
Tiny hands sparked against
hands ringing tinder-strike
Halo of burning hair.
We, who there survived
closed our eyes against the blazing dark.
Copyright © Lesley Weston 2009.