Farm

My mother stood at her kitchen window
facing north and wringing her hands

Heavy like iron that I thought
I could unwind her gnarl of worry

When my father fixed fence along the creek
he expected supper          She unwound

her worried hands to make it
A mix of potatoes     meat    and sorrow

My father ate everything
except the sorrow––

My brother and I divided it
He    being older

took the smaller share
Evening came

I walked to the barn
to gather the cows

to smell the water in the cattle tank
to imagine I was a fin

on the windmill
a splinter on the fencepost

holding the gate