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Great Plains Food Bank, and: Listening to a Rail in Mandan, and: Moorcroft, and: County 19, and: Butte

Great Plains Food Bank, and: Listening to a Rail in Mandan, and: Moorcroft, and: County 19, and:... Anders Carlson-Wee Great Plains Food Bank poetr y The wind is in the trees again, and I'm thinking it's a wonder the body can move. The way the mother at the food bank fingers a can of concentrated juice. The way the line keeps heaving forward. The way the child tugs the heavy skirt. My job is to look for the weak and the elderly, like the guy who grew up in Oslo and is still trying to make it to Bergen. It's a straight shot on the train, he says, but you have to be in Norway to catch it. I load his meat and his yogurt on a cart. I wait as he chooses nine of the least bruised carrots. The trunk of his car has the smell of dried flowers, and his baguettes fit lengthwise easily. But before I help him lower himself into the driver's seat, and before his hands pass over one another, turning into the northbound traffic, he tells me I'm young. Tells me it's spring. Says I should be out of here, heading for Bergen. I know he's right. I know he's so goddamn right. I stand as still as I http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png The Missouri Review University of Missouri

Great Plains Food Bank, and: Listening to a Rail in Mandan, and: Moorcroft, and: County 19, and: Butte

The Missouri Review , Volume 38 (1) – Mar 31, 2015

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Publisher
University of Missouri
Copyright
Copyright © The Curators of the University of Missouri.
ISSN
1548-9930
Publisher site
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Abstract

Anders Carlson-Wee Great Plains Food Bank poetr y The wind is in the trees again, and I'm thinking it's a wonder the body can move. The way the mother at the food bank fingers a can of concentrated juice. The way the line keeps heaving forward. The way the child tugs the heavy skirt. My job is to look for the weak and the elderly, like the guy who grew up in Oslo and is still trying to make it to Bergen. It's a straight shot on the train, he says, but you have to be in Norway to catch it. I load his meat and his yogurt on a cart. I wait as he chooses nine of the least bruised carrots. The trunk of his car has the smell of dried flowers, and his baguettes fit lengthwise easily. But before I help him lower himself into the driver's seat, and before his hands pass over one another, turning into the northbound traffic, he tells me I'm young. Tells me it's spring. Says I should be out of here, heading for Bergen. I know he's right. I know he's so goddamn right. I stand as still as I

Journal

The Missouri ReviewUniversity of Missouri

Published: Mar 31, 2015

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