G. A. Scheinoha

A Different Fortune

Nebraska lay before them like an open palm under a Gypsy's eye, the Missouri River traced like a vein across the wrist. They raced down the bridge from Iowa, this lifeline radiating out into fingers, Omaha, Lincoln, far beyond, out to the very tips, a town called Wilber, little more than a thumbnail village.

dangling above
the current;
a steel spider

Wheat silos arched higher than any he'd ever seen back home. Narrow streets clogged with center-loading lanes, hemmed in by tall, historic homes, too valuable to eminent domain.

Fast forward to the future. Stir in a pinch of Texas size heat, blown straight up off the gulf coast. A recipe for sweat: only breathe. Way too much for an aw shucks, country-grown Wisconsin boy.

here on the plains
mind stretched beyond
line of sight

Yet this was where they sought sensation, nerve endings for travel-fogged bohunk brains. Lincoln was an all night episode of cops. Those blaring sirens jerked him wide awake from fitful motel slumbers. He felt his father's spirit in the room that same night. As if they'd finally made

peace with the past
coming where
he'd never been