We are on Nine-Mile Prairie When - Poem
Segment
in QT | Segment in Real
We are on Nine-Mile Prairie when,
the news reaches us of twin towers and collapse,
walking with fourth-graders through tall grass,
our guide uttering bluestem and goldenrod, mammal
and snake, this early report not yet registering,
the sun, high, burning. Standing on the unplowed,
the whole, no broken sod or surreal debris, only silence,
learning pollination and forb, coyote and mouse,
deer and split-hoof adaptation. This unspoiled place
a split screen - reels replaying later - spider and insect,
growth points above or below, roots with tentacles deeper
than imagination. How do we comprehend fanatics? Out here
we speak French - prairie: treeless meadow, evolving
through the millennia. Plant, animal, weather intertwined,
on each other dependent. The first people and fire, following
the source. Fourth grade, when school grows more complex,
when the curriculum includes heritage. How do we define
fear, the future, the dead? The blameless children, rabbits,
bolt from predators, crouch in grass. Nowhere to run, nowhere
to hide, no superman to 'reverse the earth's rotation, start
this day over. Wings in the air, the claws of terror. We pause
on thatch in the brief quiet, breathe unsullied air. While
winds blow our way, we search for words, phrases,
language that is truly alive. Are we safe on this, our only
planet? Each child becoming the smallest prey.
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