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| POETRY |
| STORMS OF NEBRASKA Carried up to heaven Farmer’s precious topsoil Stains the pink spring air muddy brown Driving home a few short miles on a balmy afternoon becomes As dangerous as setting out in the middle of a blizzard I think about my ancestors surviving the dust bowl on the Nebraska plains High winds and all Mouths full of dust Fine as talcum powder Sifting into lungs while they attempted to take a deep breath I wonder if talking to one another became a curse If wives and husbands and brothers and sisters stared Eyes caked with grit over the evening meal at their plates Grimly chewing and swallowing before the food became coated With a gray film Just nodding or pointing to communicate their needs I cough and turn on my bright lights I can only see the bit of road directly in front of me Perhaps I’m in the middle of a tornado Unaware I’m about to be swooped up and deposited somewhere else... Maybe Kansas Then…I’m through Nothing but clear air ahead of me and I'm still driving down 6 & 34 in the state of Nebraska Behind…the dust storm moves doggedly onward Like a strange giant bee Collecting it's pollen from one field then another Leaving the furrowed land bleached bone dry and picked clean by Sheryl McCurdy |
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| THE SILENCE OF THE RAIN Beating down on the powdery talc Evaporating before quenching the farmers thirst Silent tears are wept Winds carry the hot white dirt to the heavens Swirling dust devils decorate the barren land Children don’t even notice They slog home from school with heads tucked down Against the heat Eyes gritted Faces grimed Resigned to spending hours laying out pipe for irrigation Attempting to lure the crops to prosper with bottled water Just another day in another Nebraska farmboys life by Sheryl McCurdy |