Cell Traffic: New and Selected Poems

Oxbow

177 Oxbow To Asiganak Go to one of those little islands on the prairie that haven’t been broken and stitched with wheat— Where the river has swung a loop out of its ancient path— Where mounds of earth along the slough form sculptures only the sky can see— Watch meadowlarks thrust their banded throats up and warble their yellow heads off— Listen as yellow-headed blackbirds, bobbing on reeds, ricochet their untuned calls— Taste juneberry, chokecherry, wild plum— See how the redwing blackbirds took their showy epaulettes from the high-bush cranberries— Hear how that tart fruit cracked their voices for good. ...