Ground
by Noah
· 30/01/2026
Published 30/01/2026 13:36
I told the man I was from the place near the bend,
where the county lines blur and the paved roads end.
But the grain elevator is a pile of red brick,
and the air in the valley is no longer as thick.
I remember the July heat, heavy and slow,
when the gravel dust had nowhere to go.
It coated the screen door in a fine, gray grit
that stayed on your fingers if you happened to touch it.
I can’t name the streets without naming the dead,
so I just shook my head at the things that he said.