Riding the Plow

Riding the Plow

I am riding the loose heart of the plow that leaps
over each roll of heavy earth .
The last 20 acres are turning for seed.
The plow and I have bonded in lifts and jolts.
I am happy with the warm air cooling
in drifts through my sweaty shirt.
There is a swell of earth wave
beneath the hungry blades.
I rise higher than before and pretend
it is the rodeo.
I wave into the crowd
of short people in squat rows.
All around me the ground unfurls
in a willingness to soften and turn
Nothing now is unrelenting.
The young weeds fall over and under.
When I close my eyes
only the sound of the tractor roars
in a crescendo of accomplishment.
At the end of the field,
it all falls silent
I listen to my rapid heart beat
as my feet find higher ground.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

thanks for the ride...what a pleasure and adventure your poetry is...