driving across Kansas on a wave of the blues,
poems working their way to the surface
bearing messages of stone and fern,
soul and bone and dirt.
The seventh year is the one when
everything changes — you’ve seen it coming
like a tornado on the horizon.
The sky turns black and yellow and green,
you run for the storm cellar
and play gin rummy on a rickety card table
next to the canned goods,
then sleep piled on the floor like puppies.
When birds carol the new day,
the sky like a basket of clean cotton towels,
nothing has changed but
everything is new.
— Olive Sullivan
Award-winning writer Olive L. Sullivan grew up in Pittsburg, Kansas. Since then, she has lived in cities, mountains, deserts, two foreign countries, and an island, but she returns to Kansas landscapes for the images in her work. She lives with two big dogs and travels every chance she gets.
4 thoughts on “56. The Seventh Year”
[…] 150 Kansas Poems […]
This beautiful poem speaks to me as I sit in San Francisco–reminding me of why Kansas is home.
What a lovely poem! Thanks for sharing. And congratulations.
Your Kansas imagery is so excellent! I smelled the cool and musty storm cellar; knew the rickety card table’s signature wiggle.
Those last three lines were so great-the fluffy soft towel-clouds loosely stacked. ‘Nothing has changed but everything is new.’ Love it! TIna