Hi, friends! It's time for another installment of The Transatlantic Project. You can hear my poem here and read Steve's here.
For those without audio, here's the poem.
The New Year
We start at the base of the bur oak tree
the old trunk circled with a frothing ice
thick thigh roots in winter stasis
We move to the floodplains the
field of frosted wheat stretched and
cracking as hide across an old drum
We end high on a wind-carved bluff
above the low Missouri river with her
sluggish currents sliding down the vein
We pass a plaque to Lewis & Clark
in greened bronze at the highest point
to make fresh boot tracks in the snow