with that flat expanse of dusty fields,
the shaggy business strips,
and brusque Midwestern replies
made me wish for a valley to hide in.

My ears clamored to hear
the saccharine politeness of shop owners,
not honest and cool indifference.
Buy it or not, they don’t care.
They don’t know your momma.

But oh that sky –
I never tire of the sky –
the blast of light across the soybeans
as the storm runs down to the river,
or the fog hanging in the morning
like a misplaced cloud.
The hot bright blue of july
not obscured by any mountain.
The night stars answered
by fireflies below.

After 15 years we get some greetings,
Some nods to our son, born here.
The small town doesn’t fully trust,
but welcomes us on the edges,
we are still in the trial period. 

I kind of like Ohio.