By Kathleen Ernst
From the train, the prairie looked flat as a cracker.
She didn't learn until settling on their new place
that the land sank and swelled like a restless sea;
that the tall grasses, gently beckoning, hid swales that swallowed
the silk bonnet blown from her head while they wagoned to town,
the plump ruffed grouse she'd hoped to shoot for Sunday dinner,
and - as she pegged out wet laundry, humming a hymn -
the child who toddled from her side, chasing a butterfly.
© 2013 Kathleen Ernst, LLC.