Poetry
Two Hours North Marisa Natoli I look ahead and see black cows trudging, I wish I could put a sweater on them. All the scenery beside me turns into a grey-blue. Beside the loud green sign stuck into the icy grass: “Moody County.”
“Ice forms before the bridge.” I pick at the side of my nail. Now it’s Al Green, Whipping me with melancholy notes, Then I look down, blood.
“I’m just tired.” I assure myself as a knot settles in my throat. One deep breath, then two, Turn the music up, no, down. The cows are cold, Thirty minutes away, there is more snow on the ground.
“I’m so tired of bein’ alone.” He chants to me as if he were in the passenger seat, With a cigarette out the window. “I’m so tired of on-my-own.” And I wonder if the cows are cold.
I’ll feel better tomorrow, Five hours until I can sleep. A yellow sign yells,
“This picture of a farmer harvesting his crops in Sergeant Bluff was put through filters to give it the appearance of a painting.”
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KIOSK2021
EVENING HARVEST Rae Barto photography
