I’m here
I’ve arrived
in rural Minnesota
a small town where The Dairy Queen is the threshold guardian
along Highway 75.
I admit,
when all the world seems too much for me
I seek refuge with her
in a vanilla swirl
dipped in nut crunch.

My camper rocks back and forth in the wind
and sometimes squeaks
like a mattress in a cheap motel.
I’m sure this will keep the neighbors wondering
about the woman from California
in the Gypsy Caravan.

Yesterday it hailed so hard against the tin roof
I put cotton in my ears.
I watched in awe
as the landscape was quickly covered
in a blanket of mothballs.

With one stray treat
I have won the heart of the dog next door.
I find his devotion to me
utterly…

crushing.

My sister’s tulips
are blooming on the farm.
She walks around with her bucket and clippers
selecting red, yellow, and white flowers.
Her prized parrot tulips
sway in the wind
with their ruffled négligée edges.
They are so beautiful
but not as beautiful as she.

I am reading Kathleen Norris’ Dakota
and I’m reminded of what it means to be in small town.
I am humbled by the thought
I am on my knees…
still
and I wonder how in God’s name
I will keep a low profile
or
if I’m meant to.

But mostly
I pray to be smart.

Published in Lake Region Review of Fergus Falls, Minnesota, Fall 2014