With windows rolled all-the-way
down and his motor-oiled hands
slapped 'round the steering wheel,
he drove slow-over potholes-
His need-a-shave chin scratched my face
when I went with Father from hayfield
to hayfield following my sister
on the Massy Ferguson.
She pulled the Round Bailer-
and we dragged the Rake.

Pressed against Father's grisly body,
I was always hot & excited
to make it to the field
where I would be reunited
with my sister. Together,
we spun-'round fields tossing-up
dusty wind-rolls of orchard grass.

We always ate
our peanut butter sandwiches.
We always drank
our frozen milk-jug of water.
He always came back at dark.
When we made it home,
I always packed
my Barbie doll case.

Dreamed of crawling-out the window.

My sister and I were running
to catch a plane to Arizona.
We were climbing-up the creases
of Superstition Mountain.
We played Barbie in the Petrified Forest
where we discovered water,
dropped our cases and swam the ocean.
We spotted an island with fruit and goats
and tossed ourselves across
the ragged boughs of a Catalpa tree.

Dancing wildly-
we were free.

Premiere Generation Ink, Volume 2 Number 2 (Summer 2001)