Johnson County Library will close at 5 pm on Wednesday, Nov. 25 and will be closed on Thursday Nov. 26 and Friday, Nov 27.
My mother mourns leaving her own country so deeply it runs through her veins into mine. Bangladesh is what she knows and what she loves. She spends her time showing me her culture: spinning through dances, running through poetry, and wading through history.
Montana and Wyoming The sprawling landscape of Yellowstone Against towering mountains Form a place that I’d never seen before The animals and people you meet at pull offs Are what make the experience an experience Waiting for Old Faithful to burst After a long enough time it does The height of th
Yesterday, I took a walk. I went through the park, I passed by one empty cup, two used napkins, three cigarette butts. I jaywalked across the street, past the hardware store and into the coffee shop. I ordered a small latte, handed the pretty barista a five-dollar bill and stuffed the change in m
A cool breeze shuffled my hair, causing deep chestnut strands to tangle in my eye lashes. As my purse swung loosely at my hip, I slowly lifted my hand to shield my defenseless eyes against the brilliant sun. I exhaled deeply, letting the awe and amazement settle in the pit of my stomach.
Bumping the van, our holey road twists onto the dark side of each mountain, drawing us into night and the nervousness of a stranger at the wheel in an unfamiliar place. The stars are swallowed, the moon gone from the rough highway and jagged peaks. Suddenly, I see an orange glow in the black, bes
The Ponderosa Pines hunched ponderously, Their convoluted gestures frozen With dry, rasping limbs in stages of vexation And narrow forearms lifted high In savored moments of exalted epiphany. My brother and I climbed the questions They grew, Our legs crouching and stretching Over the contours of
The losses we experience The victories we achieve… They become intertwined With the places we inhabit As we go about our lives. Meaning and memory tie us to these places So that even when we leave somewhere, Or the buildings disappear Or the land changes, We’re a part of those places, And those p
When I think of Iowa, I think of cattle, I think of the rattle under the road, driving by humble abodes. I imagine cornfields, I imagine barns, driving by the farms, I hear the rumble of tractors, the thunder in the sky during summertime, I smell the stink of the cows, we should be nearly there n