Farm Creek
There’s a tiny creek
at the bottom of a hill
where tall grass wisps
a small percussion roll
and sediment heavy water
ripples over-treaded muck-
the cows migrate here
needing to cool themselves.
The muddied banks
crack in the August sun,
but the life source bleeds
from the livestock’s need
and the cracks return
to the moist, dark clay.
Mechanical pipes pull
droplets to simulate rain
onto father’s newest crop.
birthing some moisture
in the return of morning dew
and the late run-off
slipping from the Missions-
the water never ceases
in this tiny farm creek
at the bottom of a hill.
at the bottom of a hill
where tall grass wisps
a small percussion roll
and sediment heavy water
ripples over-treaded muck-
the cows migrate here
needing to cool themselves.
The muddied banks
crack in the August sun,
but the life source bleeds
from the livestock’s need
and the cracks return
to the moist, dark clay.
Mechanical pipes pull
droplets to simulate rain
onto father’s newest crop.
birthing some moisture
in the return of morning dew
and the late run-off
slipping from the Missions-
the water never ceases
in this tiny farm creek
at the bottom of a hill.
Lyndsie Conklin is a poet living in Colorado with her husband and cat, Beans. Lyndsie finds romance, beauty, and darkness hidden within the little things in life and uses poetry to express this. She wishes to illustrate this complexity by highlighting little, gross beauties within extensive, current topics, such as mental health, LGBTQ+, and women’s issues. Lyndsie holds a Bachelor of Arts in English from Western Colorado University and a Masters of Education in Higher Education Administration from Post University.