September 17, 2008
By Mercedes Lysaker, Indianapolis, IN

The wind that whistles
Through the front door of the farmhouse
Races to the cornfield that naps
Beyond the backyard barbeque.

When the silks and tassels wave and flirt
And that absurd blue sticks to the sky like wet paint,
She gazes out the window and finds her country boy.

With husky curls as sun-shined as the lanky stalks
And cloudless eyes that wrap her ‘round
She’s pulled through the rows,
Tickled by every leaf that trembles against
Her bare shoulders, and she waits
To be folded in by the unyielding reach
Of those perfect arms.

But the breeze that brings hints of winter
Sweeps away her leftover dreamings
And leaves her waltzing with the wind-worn yellow
With the cluster flies buzzing all around.

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