Earlier this year I wrote a poem and I liked it. Having done that, I've been waiting around for my brain to happen upon another line that I liked so that I could write another. I don't love this one quite as much, but still, writing poetry is a new fun thing that I didn't think that I could do. I *think* I welcome comments/criticism. Many thanks to Linda for inspiration--now I ought to get to work on her ghazal.
The good year
Wheat falls out of the lint trap during Harvest.
It snowed and iced and snowed too late, and you were worried. (Farmers are always worried).
But this year everything worked.
The heads are tall and full and prices are high (!)
Before Harvest, we couched our hope in allusions.
"Don't put glass windows on the house".
Waiting for hail or grasshoppers.
Now you're cutting.
When I see you-moments when I bring lunches and suppers to the field-you're happy.
This is our good year.
One in ten, or maybe one in fifty.
I pray we harvest enough hope to sustain us;
enough that every year I can smile
When wheat falls out of the lint trap during Harvest.