“And here I am in Dallas”, the song rings in my mind as I look out of the thirtieth-floor window in a semi-daze.
Recalling my daughter’s exclamation “Mama, can you see Grandma’s house from here”? to which I replied, “Through this haze?!”
Looking down, the cars move as if pulled by a magnetic force, unseen and unknown. Is it from above or below”?
The people are like puppets on a string while miniature houses and trees hide the earth and crowd the land to the point of overflow.
Office buildings and warehouses seem added as an afterthought—smoke and steam puffs placed above them to add authenticity.
The sounds of the cars, trucks and busses, a maestro’s nightmare, provides this spectral scene with a dissonant melody.
But as I look to the furthermost point of the horizon, through my reverie I see
Over the hills, across the cotton fields and over Red River, a place very dear to me.
In reminiscences I see the old two-story house, I feel the warm wood fire, then there’s mother telling me it’s time for school.
When I walked out on the porch, I see to the east the bright morning sun coming over the hill, and to the west is the barn and pool.
As I run to catch the bus and find a seat, I feel the crisp clean country air stinging my face.
I see the graveled roads, the plowed fields, the oak trees, a lovely morning, ah, what a lovely place.
Suddenly my inanity is broken by the ringing of an office phone,
Along with the sad but true realization that the life of a working girl must go on.
As I settle down to the daily routine, I can’t help but wonder once more
If I could have foreseen the future, would I have heeded the city’s allure?
1976
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