Whoosh of a Sliding Glass Door 

There is a part of me rural 
like deer gathering on Sunday morning 
like the scent of skunk entering my car vent 
cans of Busch rusting in red clover 
and lilacs blooming, lilacs blooming, just for me 

There is a part of me rural 
as a blue jay swoops, screeching at my cat 
as she explores an unleashed frontier 
green emboldens after a welcomed rain 
as I am ionized after each shower of the Perseids 

There is a part of me rural 
like dust resting on a country store's front windowsill 
"Come in, run fingers over your past" 
waiting to be reborn, then being reborn 
my inner child toddles on barn wood flooring 

There is a part of me rural 
as the whoosh of a sliding glass door 
has inside running outside 
mint green sheets waving at turquoise gutters 
free from a reality that nothing is on tv 

There is a part of me rural 
like cascading billboards for Meramec Caverns 
like winds winding the giant ball of twine 
streams of red, white and blue church doors 
staring at free air defining my simpleRR smile 

 

                                                                                                                                                Aaron Williams

Published 2023 in Kansas City Voices, Vol. 18