As we rolled along, bordering the highway heaved
laden cornfields, harvest-ready stalks set as tight
as a beard's stubble, glowing amber
in the noontime sun.
Across the macadam, soy bushes had shriveled
to a great clearing of dull brown sticks
framed by hedgerows
of deep viaridian.
The earthy patchwork of farm weald stretched
in every direction to distant treelines
under a porcelain sky filled with
pretty little popcorn clouds.
Just then I spied a lone figure walking a crossroad
that reached to the far horizon, his back to us,
undaunted by the long and empty ribbon
stretching before him, jaunt steady
if slow, clothes disheveled, as open to the day
and to his fate as any migratory creature.
Alone, destination uncertain, stoically
forebearing like my brother,
a thousand miles away
dying of cancer.
first published in The Aurorean
©2015 Bonnie Manion