errol miller
Global
Now this is the mundane system:
a lady in a blue pinafore will nurture you
in a temporary gesture of friendship
all the loving will be ending
all the sweet things said and done
then she'll stand like a silent sentinel
looking over Midwestern farmland
and the clay-brick buildings of Urbana
the beamed barns, blood-red
with excited chickens exiting
an amber bulls-eye etched onto
the lovely summer place
that particular establishment we call home
carved and stitched into art
there is only one fireplace to warm the tenants
stoked by dismembered hickory logs
roots grow in the cellar, and pleasure is
a glass of cool iced tea, like a great part
of a nation's heritage is death and decay
the summer cottage standing as erect as possible
preparing for fall as June's vegetables
glide into September, the bottomland
filled with dazzling American folks
mending enameled weathervanes
planting turnips and onions
herding sheep into blue ceramic vases
preparing for harvest
for the long night ahead.
