Hiss
by Odin Roark

A surgeon lifts him
From cesarean he is born
To rationed surroundings
He does begin

Acres of annual dried and broken corn stalks
Become his home
Planting always hopeful
Harvest always dreadful
Market forever questionable

Living his farming gamble
Forty years would pass
Rows always hoed
Life’s water forever short
Empty living persisted long

Hands and heart
Like the earth he so loved
Dried
Cracked
Longed for reward

Lying down seemed easy
Away from cursed tractor
Plough
Paint-blistered farmhouse

Here between the rutted stalks
He did give himself
To become of value
To enjoin with nature
To offer his outstretched body
And wait

Cycles of night and day
Passed peacefully
His breath became quiet
Then short
Then…

Death visited on that year’s day of storm
As the life-force touched down
Becoming a final mantra
Droplets tried to awaken
The man beneath a peaceful smile
But the dry earth’s hiss of thank you
Was all to be heard