Christian County, Illinois
After Tomas Tranströmer
In midsentence. Like a pregnant sow
in another mud- and mire-laden trench,
your hay-stuffed midland rests. In mid-crossing:
a locomotive humming through a hymn
on Sunday morning. This is west of Eden.
Vacant field, vacant lots,
and elms holding back the wind.
Across the river, along the same tracks
edging a field of pinwheel turbines: a factory
erupting steadily through the night. And the bungalows
under its shadow foreclosed, forsaken. And still—
a Walmart opens!
The train whistle cuts clear—the moon
abandons its post—and the cold
digs deep into the bones of each who enter.
To take their place along the line.
Source: Poetry (July/August 2021)