sun strikes black soil of the prairie;
weeds, dust, insect drone.
Small child thinks of Indian time
& snorting, thundering bison.
On her side of the avenue,
behind the brown stucco-sided house,
railroad tracks–
boxcars rumble comfort.
Wheel clickity clicks
let sleep trickle in to train’s rhythm.
Sometimes, she and three big sisters
boost each other into empty boxcars.
Bits of hay, pieces of packing labels
to mysterious destinations.
On Dad’s lap, they watch
the train wheels roll over
a 1946 Indian Head penny,
examine the elongated face and headdress feathers.
Loved this. Loved the story, the imagery, the evocation of place and family. I’d like to be able to find this again.