No One Leans In Summer Doorways

for Charles Van Vooren

Men walk their fences as a sort of prayer,
their women sometimes watching from outsheds,
the children—away from parents,
act out prayers in games that demand
the few remaining doomed cattle oblivious
in their dumb faces.

Nothing sweet smelling floats up
from what was once soft, rich black humus soil,
showing off sprouting lime green corn and beans.
Such a small dimension to define oneself from.
a few press on beyond human expectations

from SIZ. Copyright © James Humphrey Trust.


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