I hoped for wheat and they planted corn.
Still, rabbits play freeze tag under the trees,
young deer stare from across the road,

turkeys meander through the yard
and foxes yawn on the concrete slab
next to piles of waiting lumber.

I ignore the fig tree bursting with fruit
and monitor the puny pomegranates
destined for a short, unhappy life.

I glare at the ranks of corn
slouching like underage recruits,
and wish instead for golden grain.

Nothing is the way I expected.
I hadn’t accounted for harvests, seasons,
plagues and unpredictable storms.

Inspired by dVerse.

Our daughter Delia danced in the corn in June.

Photo by Alvaro Ibañez


  1. […] Out of idleness induced by coldI venture, blinking like a bear,bundled, booted, in a rollingmoon walk over the mud,armed with a rake, searchingfor signs of March. A sprig of mintin a litter of saffron-tinted leaves,frog eggs like sea foam sleepingin puddles cloaked in algal slime,any green on a gray-trunked treestanding like a scarecrowon the winter-dead lawn.A bird calls, the rake snags,and I glimpse a bit of blue,miniscule blossoms winking,spring saying “forget me not,”buried under detritus like hope. […]


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