dust in the wind

... and the snow just keeps coming down. It's a winter wonderland out there, folks. Beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

Two black squirrels were tussling on the bird feeder this morning while the chickadees were still sleeping. They chased off two grays, duked it out after a tumble in the snow and then burrowed their way to where leftover seeds were waiting. What a fun way to start the morning. That's entertainment.

On a completely unrelated topic, this poem popped out of an anthology yesterday and I can't shake it. I could tell you a whole lot of stories that sound very much like this one, but I'll just let you guys tell yourselves your own stories, or feel free to share them here ... I bet you have some, too.


"Escape from Paradise, Iowa"

We are afraid of nothing.
At the diner,
you order a burger,
a grilled cheese for me.
We tell bad jokes,
pour salt on the table.
The waitress glares at us,
our clothes too tight,
my lipstick too red
for this small town.

This is the summer
of anger and beer.
We know everything:
how each blade of grass turns in the wind,
why the sunlight glints off the pool,
the shining of streetlights on black pavement,
the darkness of the lake at night.

At the bar
you say I am as Nordic
as blonde hair, these big bones
under the sheet of my skin
a frame for your thoughts.
I am the only one smoking.
My breath peels into the air like waves.

We have nothing in this town:
a beat-up Mustang,
a few songs on the jukebox,
the torn cover of a book you never read.
When we get in the car,
you pass me another beer.

We are scared of these random roads,
the small towns passing,
the gas tank nearly empty.
My head on your shoulder,
the eight track stuck again,
we're gonna drive this dirt road
all the way to Kansas City.

~Kathryn Kysar




Kathryn Kysar is a Minnesota poet  (1960 -   )

Image from tumblr, but no attribution was given.