The Loss - North Dakota
by Will Brulé

    Wind comes with you in the door,
    pushing past and kicking at the fire
    like a pouting child, stirring trouble.
    I hear your footfalls rattle morning cups
    left about the table, as you tromp away the wet.

    "Damn this farm and all the cows!"

    Turning to the window,
    I see the afternoon, gray and soft as mouse backs,
    thunder-hump its way across the field
    to swallow fence and barn alike in easy bites.
    I wish that I were out there in it,
    lost.





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