What I Think When I Smell Hay By Maureen Ash All over the county in this lull between rains farmers have mowed hay, raked it, fluffed it, fussed like bridesmaids that it should lie in long flounces under the arched fickle sky. The scent of it rolls off the fields like a popular song all […]
Poem: Pioneer Village by Maureen Ash Pioneer Village I’ve always liked this sort of thing, history, the olden days, pretending I live here, this cabin or soddy or small white frame house spare with just some nails for their hand-sewn jackets, a shelf for stained crockery, one or two cups. A street of old buildings […]
Poem: After the Burn by Maureen Ash After the Burn We walk around the field we burned,grass growing back so tender and green,and it’s like a new addition to the housefreshly dry-walled and painted, so roomy nowand lighter, more airy, the horizon made sharp. Fire scoured it down to where we can seehow the land […]
Poem: Farm Truck by Maureen Ash Farm Truck Well, we’re spending a rainy morning in the truck.Mr. and Mrs. Old Farm Coupledriving to buy seed and to visit my niece, bundling the trips to save on fuel. Spring and a light rain, corn poking up like rows of lit matchesburning green out of the ground, today’s drizzlelike […]
Poem: We Wait by Maureen Ash We Wait My sister’s unborn granchild balksat the gate, won’t be born just yetas we stand with our arms out, offeringlike oats and applesthe sweetly padded landing of our quilts, knitted caps,flannel blankets. Maybe the baby knowswhat dark halter awaits, the creaking leather harness,hate’s ponderous load on the earthand […]
Poem: Dance Recital by Maureen Ash Dance Recital Spring in the garden and sweetly, bravelythe blooms venture forth as nowsmall girls in jewel tonesclasped to moms and dads,backed by a smitten gleam of grandparents,walk from the parking lot to the school doorsand the wind upends pink, fragile petals,a tiny girl skitters sideways like a dust […]
Poem: That Thing You Do by Maureen Ash That Thing You Do Rain this morning, and a rabbit on the lawnfacing the window from which I watched itshake the wet from its fur in a skewed fan of dropsand then carry on with its grazingthough I paused. Every day something stops me–three turkeys crossing our yardas if […]