Lindsay Wilson


Who could say how long you stared
out past her fence line through a field

of tumbleweeds and foxtails,
where an oil pump bowed mindlessly

through the late summer heat?
But grief is a drug, a hunger

that makes you gaze out at the world
hoping to see more than you know,

like staring at old photographs
of her and asking meaning to appear

as suddenly as a kit fox in the field,
something quick-small, the color of dry grass,

that you hadn’t noticed. And somehow
the world confirms your need,

but you’re too old to believe this now,
because all the world gives today

are the oil pump’s gears chewing
through the brutal Bakersfield heat,

which is enough to make you strip bare
then slip into the pool’s cool throat,

eyes closed as you slide just under
the surface, hoping to be swallowed whole.

Lindsay Wilson

is an English professor at Truckee Meadows Community College and edits the literary magazine The Meadow. His fifth chapbook, Black-Footed Country, will be released in the summer of 2014, and his poetry has appeared in The Minnesota Review, Verse Daily, The Portland Review, Salamander, and The South Dakota Review, among other journals.