When they lived seaside, soft, warm surface, hard, cold depths, they floated in moon pull, wind push, womb-held, soul-soothed.
The prairie is different, stretched taut over earth, touch burned, eyes seared, loam-darkened moist, fissure-lightened dry.
The prairie is indifferent, fed by lightning, wildfire. When they chose to live hard-tack-land, they sank,Β like stones into prairie.
Eugene Stevenson, son of immigrants, father of expatriates, lives in the mountains of western North Carolina USA. An Eisenhower Fellow, Pushcart Prize nominee & author of the chapbook, The Population of Dreams (Finishing Line Press 2022), his poems have appeared in The Hudson Review, In Parentheses, San Pedro River Review, Third Wednesday, Tipton Poetry Journal, & Washington Square Review among others.
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