E
Apr/May 2001 Poetry

After the Plow

by John E. Eddy


 

After the Plow

Furrows running side by side,
veins of earth to moon.

Dust dancing on echoes,
dry coughs, wordless prayers

that crumble like clay.
A farmers' chipped white home

sits like an arrowhead after plowing,
bright, shattered here and there.

 

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