lunch break

lunch break

out where the town

meets the trees

are lots

yet to be sold

they will not sell

until spring

pulls back the sheets

of ground frost

for the back-hoes

to slide in

history is the arrowhead

buried beside the bison skull

undisturbed graves of elk

squirrel and fox

the endless trickle

of underground rivulets

rearranging the past

an old woman

lines her cellar walls,

jar after jar

of beans, apple

and peach preserves

against the long winter months

unaware of the buck

nosing her wallstones

outside--

empty eye sockets

brilliant teeth

entombed a hundred years before

broken-legged in

the blizzard

I have been unaware

until now

but I have paused

long enough

from work

to press my ear

against the wall