--Bret Shepard
The mood of the oven—
plastic is more than plastic
when it burns. Did we design this
room to smell of plastic? The open
floor-plan circles us into each other.
And who cares.
And who suffocates. Fields suffocate
as snowfall pulls our bodies outside.
It shouldn't be shameful to breathe.
Wheat stubble crunches as feet
sink into snow. The ground pulls us.
For as long as I can remember,
the ground has been pulling us,
as if iron laced our bones, promising
last breaths, a few
last clear breaths.
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