There is nothing that echos post Apocalypse,
like Kansas in the winter time.
Barren of snow to cloak her naked landscapes
that have even leached the blue from the sky above.
Earth shades of dirt and stone punctuated with ice.
The winter prairie is not for the faint of heart.
The wind alone will cut you to the bone
and the land is hard and unforgiving.
A man I once knew said to me that I could wear the color brown
better than anyone he had ever seen.
“Good thing,” I replied,
I’m from Kansas.