Poetry by Steve Sibra


We bounce in the backs of pickup trucks

dirt road varnished by heat from the tires

skeletons snore in the earth as we trundle by

we relax, let our hair fly, shirt tails flap

someone gets a nosebleed

we put our hearts back into the soil

prairie dogs and rattlers bask

in the red glory of another day’s passing;

we have not been this alive for a while.

On the banks of the muddy Missouri

our caravan coasts into silence;

a prayer is delivered on the wind, it tells us

“Life is different here;

we let mouth and nose decide

what the ears shall see.”

In a land with no plan, with no...

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