somewhere outside Osceola
prairie lightning coronas grain silos
quicksilver violet
air so humid raindrops
vaporize as soon as they touch
febrile ground igniting
silt and cornrow
shaggy hillocks of buffalo
stand as one with big bluestem
diners selling bison burgers
by the quarter pound
livestock trucks thundering past
flash of horn
tails dangling listless out the slats
the damp give of fields beneath hooves
a distant memory
rising moon a blood stain
fading as it climbs to rust
to burnished copper
we count wayside shrines
with white crosses and plastic flowers
the excommunicated gathering
in the false light of all-night
gas stations where we purchase
lottery ticket devotionals and partake
of roller grill hot dogs and machine
dispensed coffee like every day is
the last supper and where every
bathroom mirror reveals a ghost
looking back.
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Lauren Scharhag is the author of fourteen books, including Requiem for a Robot Dog (Cajun Mutt Press) and Languages, First and Last (Cyberwit Press). Her work has appeared in over 100 literary venues around the world. Recent honors include the Seamus Burns Creative Writing Prize, two Best of the Net nominations, and acceptance into the 2021 Antarctic Poetry Exhibition. She lives in Kansas City, MO. To learn more about her work, visit: www.laurenscharhag.blogspot.com
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