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Posts Tagged ‘Morning Sun’

Iowa resides in memory, exactly as it appears

in advertisements and in the nostalgia we all

have as Americans for a simpler, more rural

farming life. Iowa embodies everything we prize

 as Americans, but slightly off: rhubarb pie, sliced tomatoes,

biscuits. Fireworks! Also, corn, pigs (the idea of which contains

    the sour-harsh smell of pigshit), learning the staff and the Treble Clef,

     singing “If you can’t say something nice…shh! Say nothing,” as if it were the state

       motto. Shh! I said nothing. I woke up in a big, drafty farmhouse, I went to sleep

        by the light of the moon and the stories of dead Presidents. We could be like them

    if only we walked through life as between two towering and slightly dangerous rows

  of corn. Morning Sun, named for dawn, because you could see the sun

the moment it peeked up. Iowa is all horizon. A tree in the middle of

 a field is a geographical feature. Make a tree house there. 

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