Sense of Direction

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The summer rain has painted fields of sunflowers
and the August breeze cools the brow.
67 degrees in the Sandhills, and nobody can explain how.

Wheat with a sense of adventure has been brushed in for effect,
and life gets interesting
just beyond the hills,
as I hear, “You haven’t been over there yet.”

Push past the state line, skys bluer than azure await,
there’s small horse towns ’bout every 8 miles,
and remember, “When you leave, shut the gate.”

Fuel isn’t getting any cheaper, and time waits for no one,
so dismiss all the reasons why one shouldn’t,
smell the damp dirt, allow it to slide through your fingers, let the wind send it.

Press the pedal on the right, bite your lip, and
appreciate the sound of your giggle,
the prairie weaves over and under –
everything beyond here matters,
and you’re not getting any younger.

The Beholder

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Driving the farthest eastern reaches of the Sandhills as this scene beckoned. Was it the water, sunset or hills calling names? The topography, a sensuous mastermind, plays within thoughts while memories flood the present.

How dare it.

Just as beauty sets in, and atop the already gorgeous scene, to share this – would have been the only cherished wish left to whisper. A hand held. Hard kiss, even tug of the hair and a reminding of the natural, even recommended design for an alliance.

Useless comes to mind, but doesn’t it always? Untrustworthy. Less than. Nothing deemed attractive found near not even near, by not just one, but from many.

Wicked is fate as she tosses over another just out of reach, if only the physical qualities found irresistible and encouraged were obtainable by another’s remnants. Would life continue to offer beauty with hopes someone might see?

Alone Inside My Head

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I drove again
desolate, except for
Thedford,
lost alone inside my head.
wandered in the Sandhills
life: simpler; traditional.
not one wolf
maybe he lived beyond
the first crest of
rolling hills,
as smooth as curvy skin
from here, I think,
alone inside my head.
I like the shape of my breasts
as I look down due to insecurities
more than anything,
the way my favorite, blackest bra
holds them…
what I thought about while driving
alone inside my head.
yesterday, bent over my kitchen sink
crying and
wondering how I make life work,
I saw my long legs tucked into
my soft blue jeans
and thought
I adore my fuzzy slippers with these,
just me alone inside my head.
my reflection in the bathroom today,
concentrating on red curls,
specifically the one who chooses
to hang lower, looser than the rest,
she defies me,
I cheer for her
alone inside my head.