Doors to fall

September 25, 2013 at 12:54 am (Poetry)

 

Abandoned. Overlooking the river’s bend.

Doors open.  A promised memory lingers.

A line of dreams enter into a rusty rest.

Each one full of dreams, hopes and heart.

Dancing across the meadows, echoes.

Laughter and tears. Dust and dreams.

 

Doors open. Left there to rust. Engine dead.

Dreams of theirs fade like paint, rusting away.

You have to wonder about their flight.

North to hope, away from the dust bowl.

A generation moving away from desolation.

Driving the dream to fields northern.

Past the rivers Saskatchewan and White Fox.

Farmer’s cars edge the fields, memories live.

 

In the dustbowl years many people fled southern Saskatchewan looking for land that was alive and farmable.  They ended up north of the Saskatchewan River and along the White Fox. Further north than they ever dreamed and yet they found land that did grow crops, and communities sprung up to grow families.  Their dreams drew them north, another wave of pioneers driving wagons of steel powered by gas drinking horses.  You can see their remains, the farms, and you can see their fields still growing abundant crops.  My small tribute to them for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets. Come over won’t you?