Passing Vinland Kansas

The worlds moving on isn’t it.
maybe im moving that direction,
but those Kansas folk aint movin’ a step
not while pop’s still living for its protection.

because the farm’s so old and their hands are withered with the days toiling in the
sun blazing fields, and thier ears are full of the sound of thunder and locusts and tracter equitment, and their boys are still calling their mother “ma” and their teachers “mam” and the girls still put wheat behind thier ears and walk barefoot through the brown puddles in the cow pastures.

And he still gets up.
to solute his baby doll away.
thinking he did everything exactly right,
comforting his girls when they’d cry in the dead of Kansas stormy nights.
and he knows derril’s got the land in the palm of his hand
and Nora’s gunna stay by his side before she goes on with any other plans.

because Lawrence isn’t that far away, and dinner isn’t that far away, and planting season isn’t that far away, the years have gone by like fireworks quickly exploding over the garden, lighting…launching…and exploding in seconds so that if you were looking the other way you’d miss it.

because the farm’s so old and their hands are withered with the days toiling in the
sun blazing fields, and thier ears are full of the sound of thunder and locusts and tracter equitment, and their boys are still calling their mother “ma” and their teachers “mam” and the girls still put wheat behind thier ears and walk barefoot through the brown puddles in the cow pastures.

well let me tell you that not everything is old and bad and whithering. I’m gonna go back there soon, the radio is playing in my car going down I-35 at six o-clock in the bright brilliance of the morning, and the cats’ll be waiting to get in my way as i drive up the driveway and grandma’ll be waiting in the storm door waiting to welcome us in.

I i say to you i could use another pass accross that country and another look at Vinland Kansas and another year in the fields and another hug.

because the farm’s so old and their hands are withered with the days toiling in the
sun blazing fields, and thier ears are full of the sound of thunder and locusts and tracter equitment, and their boys are still calling their mother “ma” and their teachers “mam” and the girls still put wheat behind thier ears and walk barefoot through the brown puddles in the cow pastures.

Passing Vinland Kansas

gillalex

Joined January 2008

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

This poem or piece is about the area my grandparents live in and my grandparents themselves and about the magic of the land and the people and how it will always be there and about how the farm and the people have a special place in all our hearts. If my grandparents ever read this i want them to know that i did this in like ten minutes and it could have been better haha…hope you like it.

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