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Prairie In My Pocket

Here in April,

the prairie wind at my back

while white clouds mottle scarce

new grass, I hold in my hand

what has stayed in the jacket for all

the long months since November

Seeds carried through cold times

since that dark day I stripped them, waiting,

from rusty plumes in my fence line;

Turkey Foot, Big Red, Blue Bluestem-

names for an old and simple grass saved

from the plow. Most I scattered on earth far

removed, scratched a shallow bed before the frost

These few are left, a pocket legacy, warning me,

a bit of prairie to seed that other earth

I hold inside my mind