Previously published in Amsterdam Quarterly Belle Plaine Islands of trees among long prairie grass, clear cut with a strong Germanic vision. Hulda and William, the root of this family, planted wheat amid a siege of locusts. Prairie turned to grain, then to black, as swarms devoured until stalks no longer whispered in evening winds. They were determined to start again, again, until those stems could pay the land's yearly toll. But too close to lost, Hulda claimed it as only a woman could. She wove each of her children through those fields, row by orderly row, forever tied to that land.
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Gail WawrzyniakIt could be what happened on my last vacation, a national news event, a single line from one of the many books in my bookshelves, or a personal remembrance. Archives
January 2016
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