Spokane
We came from Concord, Mass
from Harvard and MIT,
jazz musicians and killer parties to
paintings of cows and barns on
black velvet.
Driving in from the east, we first saw
the valley, wrecking yards and
The Snake Pit at State Line.
But the smell of warm pine and
blue skies grew on us and
before long we were hooked.
Sure, the Nutcracker with
the Moscow Ballet meant
Idaho, not Russia, but
the winters were sublime and
the summers scented with sage.
Forever in my memory I will
journey north through the Palouse
with the rustle of hard winter wheat
whispering in my ears.
No comments:
Post a Comment