Apple peelings
red and moistened
slide from the knife
onto my calico apron
in a large, curly heap.
I listen to the chatter of
my family around the table.
Over and over,
I slice pieces from my apple,
and eat them from the knife
like my father before me,
until nothing is left but the core.
That's where I like to begin
my story.
Previously published in Hard Row to How.
Included in When the Sap Rises.
ONION BED
I remember the day
you began falling
and didn't want help
getting back up.
A few months later,
you bought a bright red
scooter so you could
ride all over the farm
and check on your cattle.
You were proud of it
and showed it to all of us.
I have memories of you
riding through the pastures
with my son on your lap
and smiles on your faces.
One day you asked Jody
to help you work on the fence.
He was only four years old.
When the work was done,
you asked what he charged.
He replied, Five dollars, Papaw.
You paid gladly and laughed later.
Always an ambitious man,
you were determined to work.
One day while visiting,
I couldn't find you in the house
so I walked out on the porch
and looked up toward the garden.
There you lay on the ground,
plucking weeds around the onions.
That year you finished your jobs,
sold your cattle, made your will,
but didn't live to harvest your crop.
Previously published in Nostalgia.
Included in When the Sap Rises.
KINDRED SPIRIT
At feeding times
the female cardinal
is the first to the feeder
and the last one to leave.
Unlike the other birds,
she doesn't scare easily
or shy away as larger birds
light on the feeder beside her.
Instead with courage,
she remains calm and focused
and works hard at crushing
sunflower seeds, one at a time.
Sensing a difference in her,
I inch closer to the window
and notice there is a problem.
She is blind in one eye.
Somewhere deep inside me,
emotions hard to define
start to surface. I feel
a deep connection,
a bond of some kind,
not only with the bird,
but to something deeper
and on a larger scale.
A feeling of knowing,
no matter what happens,
there will always be hope
and endless possibilities.
The moisture from my breath
leaves a circle on the windowpane,
and I watch from my scooter,
until the cardinal flies out of sight.
Previously published in Mindprints Literary Journal.
Included in When the Sap Rises.
Thanks to Glenda Barrett for sharing these three poems.
