Dust Bowl

Welcome to the desert of dirt
and open space
In trespass I can see for miles
But there is nothing on which
to rest my eyes
Only cracked ground underneath

Ankle-deep in osseous matter
Humanity’s humanity exposed
Some say it is stubbornness that
keeps me in the same spot
But if obedience moves me onward
then tell me exactly what
to obey

I’ve been yelling “uncle” for
some time now

The sorrowful cries aren’t impeded
in fact, they travel straight
and up through the swirling clouds
of blackened soot
The wilderness is dry
A Great Depression in my soul
a Dust Bowl, my heart

God knows

In the silence I will wait
Until I hear the
applause of
mix-matched skeletons
Warrior thunder
For when the rain finally
I know these dry bones will live


Machinery buried in dust near Dallas, North Dakota, in 1935. Credit: USDA.


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