Hometown for an Hour: Poems

Prairie Postcard

Prairie Postcard for Josie Kearns Spiderwort, Culver’s root and bergamot— the field is full of references no one will get. A stand of more familiar poplars slants into the creek, where the local heron let me have a glance of him. I’ve come here every day these past two weeks and sought him like an omen. My deer-filled walks among the waving prairie dock and purple haze of frowsy cow parsnip have turned up jays, the lyric trochees of a couple chickadees, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds and a band of crows, but not the heron. That is, until today and my last walk on the prairie. Then there he was, wading demurely, waiting for me. I love the awkward grace of herons, half ballet, half prehistoric hinges. It was a brief encounter, just long enough to wonder before he took off, what does he mean anyway? Is he a sign of God? A consolation prize? Some trip a fortuneteller prophesies without its destination or duration included in her explanation of your life? Last night’s Tarot turned up The Lovers. Above me for a moment, the heron hovers. 60 You are reading copyrighted material published by Ohio University Press/Swallow Press. Unauthorized posting, copying, or distributing of this work except as permitted under U.S. copyright law is illegal and injures the author and publisher. ...