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i think the land was magical for me at one time when i was young really young it’s just so hard to remember i wasn’t young long enough too many adult worries
so, i learned to hate the land for not enough oats for not enough rain for not enough love
for I was sure if the land was good my parents wouldn’t have fought so over money over never ever having enough
it was the barren blasted humid burning hot frigid cold one-month-beautiful- fall-weather prairie called Dakota that was to blame
so the land and i were enemies i would make my exodus with no help of god he was dead i saw him nowhere least of all at the small white wooden lutheran church where i was too mouthy too not like them
my salvation my promised land would be the urban jungle the musty academic halls the interior of my brain i was sure of it the land and i were enemies |