Subtle Magic

There is poetry

in the three finger salute,

the digits slowly

lifting off of the steering wheel

to acknowledge the only

other car you've seen on this

county road for 10 miles.

There is poetry in the small cafe

in a town of 251 people,

the woman charging me $1

for three cups of

Maxwell House breakfast blend,

calling me Honey at

every turn.

There is poetry in the hidden

lavender farm

on HWY 127.

I didn't know Iowa could grow

lavender.

There is poetry in the

rolling rows of

harvested corn,

their solemn sacrifice

not so solemn because

they know this is what

they

were

made

for.

Inconspicuous magic.

-Kat