In this red/blue state ~
In the very early morning, blue mist
bleeds from the Blue Ridge mountains
on the horizon. It rolls down the slopes
puddles in the valleys, thick & furred.
Even the evergreens are blued w/fog
softened in outline. This is home now.
In Oklahoma, where the dirt is ironrust red,
the wind blows as red as the politics.
Here, even when the Stars & Bars stake
their claim to race & religion, old manners
breathe blue mist. Rain falls in silvery threads
and light is suffused with blue shadows.
Perhaps my battered hopes will heal, cradled
in air the colour of memory. And red light
will thin to rose, while blue sky deepens. Perhaps.
And maybe, in this misty high place, I will learn
to listen, hearing through red anger the quiet
melody of blues.