Somewhere East of Julesburg

I stand beside my car.
It's god-damned cold.
I'm not sure why I'm
Here. The bald, brown
Hills run out in all
Directions, like a
Wrinkled rug. A line
Of windmills slowly
Turning stretches east
To west on ridges
In Nebraska, miles
Off, across the
Frozen Platte. I felt
Compelled to come
Out here, to find an
Emptiness in fact to
Match the hollowness
In me. The woman
I have loved is gone.
The world I inhabit
Is all hers. It never
Suited me. This one's
Mine and mine alone.
There's no one anywhere
Nearby. There is no sound.
It's god-damned cold.
I'm going to have to
Leave.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 51 times
Written on 2016-02-05 at 13:44

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