Borrow Sarah McCartt-Jackson We borrow from the land what we can but cannot return to it: bluestem, coneflower, boneset, broomcorn, a ring-necked pheasant tied to a pole, a flat stretch of land we strip and tar and pave, a creek that gets deeper as it downrivers, its edges spoiled with runoff. We collect seeds from the sunflowers and sow them like quilt pieces, a little scrap of prairie rose here, scrap of meadowlark feather there. Tamp down the soil with plodding hooves, steel-toed boots. Listen as the tallgrass rattles its dry stems, cottonwood leaves quake as they remember mountain lakes. Listen [...]