I can't recall what it feels like to be a child,
touching the coarseness of dry grass for the first time,
and smiling without adult worries-
as I take it in my soft hands and walk to the barn.
-
I can't recall what it feels like to be overwhelmed by the stench,
but open the red doors anyway,
and choose the cutest cow, one with a spot shaped like a heart on its head,
and hold out the hard grass with earnestness,
and allow her heavy tongue to graze against my palm
and lap up the grass.
-
I can't recall this childhood in the country,
because I cannot recall the feeling of running back home,
with my slimy palm, empty-handed,
to my own meal waiting on the dining room table.
I can't recall the stuffing, the peas, or the runny mashed potatoes,
nor the squash soup, greens, or the slice of bread and butter.
I can't recall a single meal that could make me feel as full as I did,
when feeding the cows.
About the Creator
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Comments (2)
These memories linger in our consciousness, protected by the intangible because they are "otherworldly," precious, and beautiful. I remember feeding the ducks bunches of thistle through the chicken coop wire. Don't even have a memory of how or who taught me that they loved it so much. Grandma-Grandpa's yard memories... Enjoyed reading your poem very much!
Awww, a heart shaped spot on her head, so adorable! Loved your poem!