brim/a topography of the Tallgrass

Issue 6

            from this savannah beneath me – not
crowns of scattered timber – even in drought
            rhizomes drive deep enough for quaffing/ brim
 
expansive & virgin as any rolling plain borne
            serene/ pristine
& just as ancient as any forest forage lately
            apportioned/ just as any veteran feedlot/ colonized
 
gnawed to nubs           the stereophonic sobbing
             of paired Lynxes in the mid-night swallows me
tremoring in the Tallgrass & though the known
 
            world is no further than plow’s distance 
from one end of this trundled field to the other
             – tunneled up exposing glittering mummified skins
of duck-billed dinosaurs –
            gives place to godforsaken                 still it comes
 
            brim                brimming
to my voice in wilderness/ shrunken / disappeared
            on my knees
            hoping not to have to breed or bear
childlessness/ barren               * cloistered *               I hate
 
like hell this education of extract & extort
            & drain            this chivied neglect – rather a kern
than a cornice – I keep an eye out for rare
            calloused hills/ survivors                   
for the Wichita & Kanza Osage & Pawnee shadow
 
hunters            their flint-tipped arrows trading
            well beyond these grasslands in gifts
from ancient sea floor sediments: a shark’s
            tooth/ a mandible – in this country everywhere
 
is rooted under ground – as lightning naturally
            sets vast tracks afire & turf infernos
conceive tender buds & somehow bear the scourge
of pine seeds traveling miles / invading – bear in mind
            not every place needs
 
more trees – & I make my mead of sunflower honey 
in an old wine jug & I toast this topography
            of New World bloodlands                  brimmed
            in the overlay of fresh initials scratched
in limestone burying bird & horse & human glyphs
 
carved centuries past – as grizzled dark brown black
behemoths huddle covert in the foreground
            or distantly bicker
            with gluttonous deer mice for the replant
of native seeds            & spark!          these hills spall
 
            off for grazing            
forming grim resilience for bison restoration
& fiery resprout – delicious
            blossoming – almost immediately
            after the firing
new shoots brimming             from the ashes

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MARA ADAMITZ SCRUPE is a visual artist, filmmaker, and writer. She has authored seven award-winning poetry collections, her work has been published in international literary journals, and she has won or been shortlisted for numerous visual art and literary prizes, fellowships, and awards.

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