grandma's country
i ride through it and my eyes are blinded by it
flat-wind and water worn hills
elevation at 7000, signs say
but looking around you'd never know
you were higher than mountains.
sun- warm for november- bleaching its curves
sage and wild grasses bend in its unredemptive winds
pumping oil rigs keep beat with my heart
soul, blood, and bone cannot tame it.
grandmother's gone
her quilt, in shreds, warms me
sidda
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i love this. make you feel like painting? Its wierd you call it grandmas country, I always envisioned her trapped here in this windblown wide open prison. maybe now she is free
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