You joke about Kansas.
With its meat-Jello and
I see it differently.
Rolling plains, soft, tall grasses,
That brush the tips of my,
Fingers when I’m standing up.
Dug-in tenants committed to,
Dust-filled days of sweat, and labor,
Requiring muscles I’ve never even used.
Nights when crickets sing into a blue dark
Sky sprinkled with stars.
And yes, meat-Jello.
Sometimes even with cheese, or bits of too-sweet,
Too red, canned fruit.
Still, when you come back from each,
You say it was, “lovely.”
That’s you to me.
Your center is clear resolve.
You once said, “When I feel unsure,
I ask myself, What is the right thing to do?
The answer always floats right up.”
To me, that sounded like Kansas.