AMARILLO

 

Yellow
Or someone’s word for it
Was the name of my early place.
A dirt-blown, wind swept
Kind of a town
It’s name really should have been
BROWN.

Seasons of sand, snow, and wind
Shrilled through starry nights alone,
Defied by a few rare elms
Growing green in front of
Yesterday’s homes.

I remember
Bits of straw,
Sun-dried grass,
And tumbleweeds racing
Always chased by the wind.

Out from the town on those endless plains
The blowing wheat bent down too
While that great sky provided all there was
And all we ever knew.

by Gay Reiser Cannon.

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2 thoughts on “AMARILLO

  1. hehe – reminded me of where I grew up on the prairies – not too many tumbleweeds but we had a few. ok, so maybe I wouldn’t have called my town Brown exactly… but there was the dirt and the endless wheat fields…

    a lovely, evocative poem

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