The Prairie Doesn't Apologize

The prairie is what she is.

The ghost of me passes by

pulling a cow past a long stretch

of nothing but prairie grass.

She was so heavy with milk

I didn't know if

we'd make it back in time.

The cow's bell echoing

with the sound of the howling wind.

Today, I am walking a dog on a harness

past the echoing sound of ghosts

tapping on my shoulder,

whispering something foreign

which only I understand.

Husbands are long gone.

Back then for war.

Now for divorce.

The sun sets the same.

The sun rises the same.

Nothing much has changed

except for the cars

passing by so fast sometimes

I shutter at the thought of

my dog escaping the shriek

of death.

The dog is safe now.

My one condolence.

Safe in my fenced yard.

Running around chasing

the ghost of who I used to be.

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