After the weeding and wilting, bean-
snapping, brown-soap-and-vinegar’d bug bites;
After the trip in a hayseed van to the co-op
for duck feed and a candy stick,
the jars of “garden special”
neatly lined up in the root cellar;
After the hike to the sugar shack
past the few forlorn fruit trees
felled by the she-bear;
After a peasant supper of soup and bread,
Gramma’s mile-high strawberry shortcake,
the scrap over dish duty,
a few rounds of 99—
The kids squeak in the bunk beds above
as I sit in the window rocker watching
the return of the red-winged blackbird
to his oily twig; the chaos of the day
settles under the steady watch of the Big Dipper.
I dare not lean or shift
in my rocking chair, but stay
still beside the picture window,
watching the pearl moon
illuminate a peony, its petals in a pile
beside the old pump.