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)