From Robert Lee Brewer's blog, Poetic Asides, "For today’s prompt, write a space poem."
Acreage
Endless skies spill over the flatland
as far as any eye can see. Some say
it’s all we really have on the prairies:
wheat fields, space to build a life on.
Land leans in every direction, topples
forward to my children’s children,
backward to a sepia photo of great grandad
leaning his sweat-dampened brow
toward the Brownie camera to nod, smile,
before returning to the plough.
Endless space defines generational lines
of a prairie farming family. How does
a distance of six feet overwhelm me now?
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