back roads

late summer
days without rain

tires crunch limestone gravel
pushing shards down
against pale clay dirt
baked in the sun

clouds of dust billow

we learn quickly to hold our breath
wait for the pickup to pass
plumes of tan behind

even so

you taste it, the earth, ground stone
cloying in the heat
drier than sand

suffocating

coating everything
the grass in the ditches,
the grasshopper, size of a thumb, perched on a stone in the road

all but the red-winged blackbird on the telephone wire

I wrote this earlier this year, when the heat and dryness reminded me of those years in the country. Makes me kind of wistful now, during this damp, gray chilly time.