TERRA SETZLER

Joyce (I couldn’t find her last name)  imitation

The wind whistles through the restless corn fields

Eighty four squirm in the iowa heat

Bees and kids swarm around the card tables

The grown fill another glass of red wine

Me between, smiling young, talking old

My family is together again

We tell stories of our immigration

We remember our dutch roots and wood shoes

The grass is dry and brown below my feet

It is four and still no clouds to be seen

We all gather around massive trash bins

We shuck corn and throw hairs at each other

For us chores are fun and games and good times

We pack the only hill for miles

Lines of parents serve homegrown and cooked meals

Moments of silence will not happen here

Too much to say, Too little time for talk

When we leave we will span LA to Maine

But we stay connected with memories

We live our lives knowing we will return

I stick out here by more than a little

I stand five inches over every one

I speak like a girl who goes to college

And I have not set foot in a wal-mart

Just like a kid solving a new puzzle

With a piece that just won’t fit anywhere

It is jammed in where it seems it should go

No one will see that it doesn’t belong

I’m a little too thin to fit in here

So I eat the fried feast without protest

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Sorry I don’t have her’s it was the first week and I forgot to copy it