Michael Garrigan, Pennsylvania, USA
Shadows
This morning’s rain left wet clay and clouds
move slow over yellow sweet clover hills.
Ravines hidden, buttes behind fog,
uncover and bathe themselves
in the South Dakota morning sun.
I haven’t seen you in seven days
and won’t for two more
and it’s all I can think about
in this wide open place.
Breezes
The Badland breeze is subtle
but just enough to break the sweat,
prairie dogs stretch
their arms when they call. I chatter back but
my arms cannot go as far out as theirs, held back
by a rush towards home at this slow pace.
The ridges are subtle, yet hard, sharp if you watch.
Snow-on-the-mountain flowers, coyotes in the next valley over,
the Milky Way tied from ridge to ridge through a mosquito haze.
How do we find ourselves in places so far from one another?
Michael Garrigan writes and teaches along the banks of the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania. He enjoys exploring the river’s many tributaries with a fly rod and hiking the riverlands. He is the author of two poetry collections, Robbing the Pillars (Homebound Publications) and What I Know [How to Do] (Finishing Line Press). His essays and poems have appeared in Gray’s Sporting Journal, The Wayfarer, The Drake Magazine, Hawk & Handsaw, Sky Island Journal, Rust + Moth, and Split Rock Review. You can find more of his writing at www.mgarrigan.com