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Summer Afternoon in Solon, Iowa Poem

Summer Afternoon in Solon, Iowa Poem By Stuart Dybek

Cats, contagious with sleep, bake
on the back porch, and the Wasp Service
has arrived to inspect each grid
of the screens. Disguised as a weedlot,
the prairie—gouged, shorn, parceled out—
breaks into wildflowers and hums
at a pitch an octave above
the ordinary bliss of bees,
while behind the house, rusty train
tracks that stretch toward Nebraska
have lost their perspective
in the wing-winnowed air:
a vapor of hovering dragonflies
fanned to a glare by rising grackles,
glittering trajectories
as beetles drop into the world
like meteors armored in the mineral
gleam of a cosmic explosion.
Now, with green apples casting long shadows
that drench the grass; here,
on the rickety back porch held together
by the tangled twine of morning glories,
a fly composes a sonata for the glass,
harmonics of a windowpane
beneath which violets are arranged
in a stately row along the sill.
Each flowerpot contains its own horizon.

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