Kansas – March 1945
Vivian scrapes mud from the back stoop.
It’s spring at last, the yard soft,
the new wheat vivid.
In the back field, men
are picking rock the land’s
first crop, and most faithful.
They pile stones in the boggy ditch.
Handsome feathers and bright shoulders
like dress uniforms, a pair of blackbirds
swings into the sky, crying and crying —
(polished shoes swing from the black car)
The telegram in her pocket
has worn to softness
and begins to tear.
The stone pickers
are German, she knows,
POWs. She thinks — their only crop,
their seed, their harvest —
this heap of stone.
_______________
Yep, still being bad and tinkering with Ghost Maps. To some good, though, I think.
I don't usually put a poem up here at this stage -- Vivid tends to get early drafts, not late polishings, because some journals consider web "publishing" in conflict with the First North-American Serial Rights that most of them request or buy. But with Ghost Maps the book coming out in the fall, Serial Rights are not a consideration. So I thought someone out there might be curious about what my late-stage revision looks like.
Hi Erin
I'm having difficulty becoming involved with this poem. I'm feeling the gaps too large to bridge, and am not able to capture Vivian's or the POW's state of mind. It is most certainly a worthwhile poem and I'm likely being overly fussy, but in hopes of creating a bridge, perhaps a few more stones.
Vivian scrapes mud from the back stoop./
It�s spring at last, the yard soft,/
the new wheat vivid./
In the back field, men/
pick rock--the land�s first/ reluctant crop.
And most faithful, they pile stones/
into the boggy ditch.
Handsome feathers and bright shoulders/
like dress uniforms, an orderly (or your better adjective lending subtly to the military)pair of blackbirds/
swing(or march) into sky, crying and crying �
Worn to softness/
the telegram in her pocket /
begins to tear. /
(polished shoes swing from the black car)/
The stone pickers are German,/
she knows./
POWs./
She imagines this crop,/
their rough seed. /
Their only harvest �/
this heap of stone.