Prairie

Prairie

that place silent as a whisper
where wind fingers through
wheat and ripples over
the rough bark of cottonwood trees.
Do not drill, rip, scrape and pillage
where water ebbs along the muddy river
banks that Lewis and Clark explored.
Where prairie wheat tosses
the sun like a golden ball of copper coin.
Where the buttes are awash in pink, orange,
purple, blue, and cranberry.
Prairie where its color burns
hot (pure?) in my mind’s eye.
This precious land, like my grandmother’s
wedding band handed down through generations
the exchange kept within bloodlines.
Bloodlines of land, water, sky, air.
Our very arteries pillaged,
lungs, skin, and sweat grown toxic
drilled, ripped, scraped,
grouted, and brought to ruin.

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