Suddenly the house juts out.
The Indiana road curves north,
Its steady flatness unrelieved
Until that alien shape appears,
Its facade graceful in intent:
Twelve over twelve in balanced sashes.
Above the door the window fans,
Fragmenting light through leaded panes.
Exposed stones lay foundation walls.
Brick chimneys thrusting proudly up
Enclose an inland widow's walk,
Hinged with pointed metal railings,
High in the middle of the roof.

A father, suitor struck a bargain.
This house was built to buy a bride
Who yearned for sea spray, sand, and salt,
Nantucket beaches, driftwood, sails.

Wrought-iron pressed her, thigh and hip.
Far, far below the lilac bushes,
Transplanted stock she rooted there,
Pulsed softly in narrow sunlight circles.
In a sultry, ripening wind
High summer's grain grew thick and full.
Crops of winter wheat were sown.
Corn hardened toward its harvesting.

Prairie skies, rolling furrows,
Billowing endlessly in time,
Bound her on that parapet.
Pacing each day those worn steps,
She found one place where she was free
To dream, to measure many spaces.

Her husband, sons tended the farms.
Her daughters married, bore their kind.

She knew this heartland in her bone,
This landscape in her female flesh:
Semen staining fragile laces,
Birthing blood on bridal linens.

She stood alone.

Breaking, drifting in her mind,
Foaming waves, receding tides,
Wheeling birds, dim shores, thin cries. (24-25)