KELLY R. SAMUELS

 

 

ALL THIS WAS FIELDS IN MY DAY

 

Where the river, still

                                    the river. 

Still there, just a glimmer from the slope – all the grasses tall, 

the trees unruly. 

 

Along the road, the pine

with its truncated branches to keep the lines clear. 

And then the hedge unchecked, the tops intertwining, berries red. 

And there:

 

                        the garden 

with its lilies and poppies and marigolds. The towering stalk 

of something Latin.

 

Run, run, running in the dried patch between the grapevine

and the two apple trees. Those apples collected and peeled

and cooked and made into sauce never quite sweet enough. 

 

Back along the stone wall crumbling, a snake, once. Taken 

to with a hoe, quick and sure. This is what you recall: him doing

what was thought needed. 

 

And your mother calling from the back door. 

 

All of spring and summer and fall – these. Given over.

 

Kelly R. Samuels lives in the upper Midwest. Her poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net, and has appeared or is forthcoming in numerous journals, including The Carolina Quarterly, Sweet Tree Review, Salt Hill, and RHINO. She has a chapbook forthcoming in early 2019 from Unsolicited Press.

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