"Where do you go when you fall off the face of the earth?"
I've been asked this question
many times,
many different ways.
I've never been able to stay in love for too long
with places, ideas, or women.
But now that I'm working
an average of twelve hours a day
every day of the week
with a migrant worker's pay
my hands are slowly scarring
callousing over the old
mi español está mejorando
I've returned to my folks farm.
I had forgotten
how bales of hay find their way into work boots
how much brighter the stars shine in the country sky
how well dark, moist soil soothes my aching fingers
I may be here for a while before I hit the road again.
The crops must be planted.
The orchard must be pruned.
The chicken coop must be built
Oh, I like this one! "how much brighter the stars shine in the country sky". B
ReplyDeleteeautiful and true.