Tracee Coleman

Long Drive

old painting
thick fingers
palms pressing

oil, turpentine
rows cracked
under a plow

rugged hands
lines traced
by a finger

to these fields
running with
a stream

winding asphalt
to where you are
and aren't

choosing turns
dipping, rolling
past your dream

tiny sprouts
smeared into
dirt and rain

simple place
in the country
Are you there?

Hope so