Riches – 1920s (poem)

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.


    • 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

    • 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.

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