There is no hiding within
rural communities, the gossip hubs
of small towns team with news
at the doughnut shop, the feed store
trading in common tragedies:
DUIs, divorces, suicides.
We learn to live with guilt, grab
hold to stand beside the twisted
truth of being human, wear
the shame of each unpolished flaw
to endure self-inflicted tortures
until we escape this flesh.
No one is anonymous, no passing
face on the street. But sometimes
all the imperfections bloom
beyond the anguish, each petal
turned skyward to drink up the sun
and rain—and we are whole
for moments that no one has words
to describe, or time to take
to indulge in such nonsense.
drycrikjournal 
Very nice! No shame though. We were all created equal…not perfect.
“such nonsense”? I’ll take it. Keep those words flowing. I love those moments.
Saw you on Youtube.
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It’s why I prefer the sea: at sea everyone is anonymous . . . As much could be said for big cities, I guess . . .
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There is also a community that cares in a small town.
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That is the other side of the coin, of course.
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I especially liked yesterday’s offering about small towns. I wish everyone in 3-Rivers would read it. Today’s blog is fun because I posted a similar but much smaller and less poetic thought on my Facebook day before yesterday at louiseajackson.com
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I enjoyed the poetry and the subject matter. You really captured the essence of rural America.
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Thanks for saying so. There is, of course, the joy of not being urban-bound.
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As an accidential lover of rural villages and a former urbanite, I agree!
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