Poem on the Range: Driving across Kansas

We stop in a town with extremely wide, red brick streets. We stop in a town that looks decidedly western, which makes me wonder, where does the West begin? In the town where we pick up The 50, we find a hip grocery store where we buy good cheese, good bread, and, sadly, rancid corn chips. We pass through Hutchinson, where one of my favorite poets Bill Stafford was born. Who are you really, wanderer? he wrote. We pass through Stafford, no relation to Bill. We come to Spearville, where we pass a field of huge windmill parts, then fields and fields of windmills, then Garden City, then Dodge City, which we speed through like the prairie wind.

from Karen C.

Category:

Nonprofits & Activism

Tags:

• Stafford
• Kansas
• Poem on the Range
• National Poetry Month

[charlottepoet]

nice footage and i really love the poem in the side bar :)