“Of Country I Know”

for David Ferry

Click here to listen to Harry Thomas read this poem.

Everywhere life goes on against the odds.
You stand in the middle of a riverbed
that wind has driven down since there was wind
and like as not, three feet below the surface,
rimmed with a crust of alkaline deposits,
or where there’s mesquite or a clump of bunch grass,
there’s water left from last year’s winter rains.