Red Dirt Exegesis

Crickets chirp double time
through September’s open window.
Her long dark hair rests
on an ornamented book of theology.
Could Calvin have been prescient enough to
comprehend a woman predestined to
study crucifixions in skimpy summer clothes?

On this old soil,
waiting for the roll to be called,
attempting to live a corn field aesthetic,
oh so full of the fall, and
reveling in contradictions.