Paresthesia

[71degrees]

You hide in a Midwest cornfield,
between wife & children

none of them musicians,
you love them anyway

This isn’t a town with a bucket
on a rope, but some here drag
their provisions with one—

others repair shutters,
paint them in opaque colors,
still others fall in disarray,
a consortium of streets

Most are safe within a general
definition of realism: winters
cold, dreams not too bold

There is a coffee cafe on Main,
one funeral home, five churches

people eventually visit all of them
at least once in their existence

Sparrows flock like prairie flowers,
adding a colorful song each evening

you sit mornings, facing west,
sun warm on shoulders, prayer
adding straight lines, drawing life

[dukealien]

Interlinear thoughts while reading...

You hide in a Midwest cornfield,
between wife & children  so is it husband, or time, or space?

none of them musicians,
you love them anyway  so it is capable of love, and perhaps inclined to love music (too)

This isn’t a town with a bucket  
on a rope, but some here drag
their provisions with one—   sounds like a well (not)  and poverty... fishing with a bucket, or strip-mining 

others repair shutters,
paint them in opaque colors,  makes one think of gentrification but really it's just repair without despair
still others fall in disarray,
a consortium of streets  street people living rough... without windows, much less shutters to cover them (but could also be the town)

Most are safe within a general
definition of realism: winters
cold, dreams not too bold  the only safety lies in understanding reality and its dangers

There is a coffee cafe on Main,
one funeral home, five churches

people eventually visit all of them the mortuary, yes, but also the cafe.  People do talk
at least once in their existence but all five churches?  really?

Sparrows flock like prairie flowers, is this comma necessary?
adding a colorful song each evening  could be one image - anyway, very nice

you sit mornings, facing west,  back to the you being addressed or described... facing away from the sunrise
sun warm on shoulders, prayer  
adding straight lines, drawing life  "drawing" furrows in the fields, also harks back to dragging the bucket

The pins-and-needles sensation as life returns to a limb... shaking off sleep, a small rejuvenation - Paresthesia.

In general, I find little to criticize.  This poem is gentle, sometimes a bit obscure, and lacks slightly for images as opposed to descriptions.  The reader does find images forming from the descriptions, if he pays attention and leans in a bit.

I conclude that the "you" being apostrophized is a spirit or embodiment of the small town/farming place or community.  This is well done.

Use of white space is excellent.  My detail hobgoblin took note of capitalization without periods, but the effect is to make the sentence or phrase end which precedes a capitalization into an implied ellipsis without shotgunning the work with dots.  Good, especially since the implied missing completion is sufficient in each case.

In short, the poem feels a little like Aaron Copland or Thornton Wilder.  This is a good feeling; perhaps that's not what the author intended, but that's what it does for me.  It could stand a few stand-out images besides the drawn line of life and dragged bucket - a little color, cornflower-blue faded jeans and electrum corn tassels, sort of thing.  But blowing in the same wind.

[71degrees]

@dukealien:

thanks for the thoughts / comments. And your time doing it.