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Sherwood Anderson
Long lanes of fire, dead cornstalks burning,
Run now — head downward — plunging and crying,
Hold hard the breath now,
Forward we run.
Out of Nebraska, on into Kansas, now the word runs,
Runs with the wind, runs with the news of war, crying and screaming.
Now the word runs.
Out on low ridges, black 'gainst the night sky;
Farmer boys running, factory boys running;
Boys from Ohio
And my Illinois.
Questions and answers, over the land,
Questions that hurt, answers that hurt,
Questions of courage
That cannot but hurt.
Deep in the cornfields the gods come to life,
All night she walked and dreamed on the frozen road,
She the insane one, feeling not thinking.
All night she walked and wanted to Kill,
Wanted to love and kill.
What did she want?
Nobody knew.
None of us knew why she wanted
To kill.
We were the heavy ones, heavy and sure.
The wind in the cornfields moved us not.
We the Americans, worthy and sure,
Worthy and sure of ourselves.
Tom killed his brother on Wednesday night,
Back of the corncrib, under the hill.
Then she ran to him, sobbing and calling,
She who had loved and could not kill.
I went across the pasture lot
When not a one was watching me.
Away beyond the cattle barns
I climbed a little crooked tree.
And I could look down on the field
And see the corn and how it grows
Across the world and up and down
In very straight and even rows.
And far away and far away--
I wonder if the farmer man
Knows all about the corn and how
It comes together like a fan.