andy said her fingers knitted
flower coronation
for her hair
at the park as his song
pulled at the hudson's water

like the fingers pulling thread
for clothing her grandchildren
in a quilt, patterned after
a midwestern love
the earth raked and laden.

both are strong and bittersweet,
the violence of a howitzer
in the distance now
rattling windows in their frame
deeper than foundations.

while brooklyn falls for easy girls
flood gentrification
the moma yearns for
the upper room of kansas,
grain silos with her kernel

truthful wheat, unadorned
like strong hands plucking strings
spaced like the rows
and wrought bones of the house
where she sleeps on the plain.