Riches – 1920s
Soft black soil curls
behind the plow’s blade.
Squeak of leather harness,
links a nickering brown horse
to Dad’s guiding hands.
His workshoes tread
new furrows,
causing a commotion.
The black richness
reveals fat earthworms.
Swooping robins follow
Dad’s big boots,
then wing away with their prizes.
I caught a robin once
at Grandmother’s, and took it to bed.
“Lawsy, girl.” She came to
tuck me in. “You’ll have lice.”
But a robin of your own
is a fine thing for a girl of four.
So is a ride on Dad’s shoulders
when he’s done
ploughing the garden.
(2004)
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At least a wonderful remembrance. Thank you for sharing this lovely poem, and have a beautiful day! Michael
Thank you. Stories from my mother. Her family’s Depression Era story is being formatted right now. This one comes from the next one–guess I’m writing a backwards trilogy about the family.
Thank you vey much, for writing this, Joy! Always a great pleasure to read about memories, and revoking the own. Have a beautiful week! Michael
We could use some of that black soil you describe down here! All we have is tired, red clay.
Must be tough to grow tomatoes there, huh?
Perfect memory for farm kids 1920’s or 50’s
This was actually in the town of Stuart. I did get to see the house where they lived but didn’t have a camera with me–no cellphones back then–and it’s been torn down and a new house there. This was during the time that Clabe Wilson was the nightwatchman.
I love this poem from the point of view of a child!
I’ve had fun with some of Mom’s stories. She had so many from when she was just a preschooler! I hardly have any.
Beautiful, rich, descriptive makes me feel as though I was there.
I’m blessed by your comment.
I could picture the plowed field and the little girl with a robin. Lovely poem. A trilogy it is now, huh? Wonderful!
Eilene, I can’t believe it either! (We just learned that some of the Our American Stories folks are coming to Des Moines in July!)