In her rubber irrigation boots
Mama would walk the rows
of flooded alfalfa,
content with the work of silent seeds.
Mama would walk the rows
of flooded alfalfa,
content with the work of silent seeds.
Her hearing nearly gone,
she was undisturbed
by roosters at the dawn,
clinging milk pails`
and stray dogs
barking along the ditch bank.
she was undisturbed
by roosters at the dawn,
clinging milk pails`
and stray dogs
barking along the ditch bank.
Her days were spirited
with smooth, brown eggs,
honey warming on the stove
and flour sacks sewn into pinafores.
with smooth, brown eggs,
honey warming on the stove
and flour sacks sewn into pinafores.
At suppertime, the kitchen table
never smelled of oilcloth
but pickings from her sweetpea fence
or roses coaxed to bloom in winter.
never smelled of oilcloth
but pickings from her sweetpea fence
or roses coaxed to bloom in winter.
She would talk
of a wobbling Guernsey calf just born
and offer boysenberry pie
dribbled with thick, raw cream.
Faint as a dinner bell
from a farmhouse miles away
were the stories and laughter
given in return.
of a wobbling Guernsey calf just born
and offer boysenberry pie
dribbled with thick, raw cream.
Faint as a dinner bell
from a farmhouse miles away
were the stories and laughter
given in return.
Yet, she found a way to hear
the worrisome, pneumatic cries
from my bed one very long night.
With her face to my infant chest
she could feel in the darkness
whether I cried or slept,
or breathed.
the worrisome, pneumatic cries
from my bed one very long night.
With her face to my infant chest
she could feel in the darkness
whether I cried or slept,
or breathed.
Now, with the cloister of stars
I sing her an evensong.
I love you, Mama.
The covers are warm
and I sleep.
I sing her an evensong.
I love you, Mama.
The covers are warm
and I sleep.
Dorothy Logan
Child in a Sculptured Bowl (1986)
Child in a Sculptured Bowl (1986)
