Virgin Ground
He was the neighbor boy
and I, the city girl
banished to the countryside
to the grandparents,
to learn hard work
on the dairy-farm.
The rumbling train after the long flight,
jumbled my brain;
everything outside that train window
bumped along;
seemed jumbled isolated,
alien; and I felt alone.
I sat next to an older woman
who without looking whispered
see the pretty cow?
Her grandchild came
from the bathroom late—
a case of identity mistaken.
A pickup truck ride later
we were there;
Old barn but a beautiful house.
Grandpa is sitting beside me
smelling earthy,
gasoline and fresh dirt;
spelling out to me
all the summer chores
and those which would be mine.
But, he would help,
and show me
how to milk the cows.
Grandma’s living room was a doily museum,
white starched flower blooms
under lamps
some with coasters inside
one with a flower vase.
This was grandpas and grandmas.
My room was all gingham and florals,
muted pinks, greens and reds-
the one Susie had;
all her things preserved there;
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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