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Poem

It is late morning, and a string of washing is waving on the line
Clothes look like colorful flags flapping in the wind.

I'm watching her, as she captures and pokes a stray wisp of grey hair, 
    back into the braid she wears, knotted into a bun on the back of her head...
       She's wearing those sturdy black shoes, those opaque cotton hose
           and a corn-flowered blue dress of calico 
      She has a smile of satisfaction, and her eyes are as clear and blue as the sky

Summer sun is shining
          ...she walks to the garden, and begins to pick vegetables 
Her flowered apron is folded into a hammock
          and is overflowing with cucumbers, tomatoes, and bell peppers...
              Quickly, into her mouth, she pops a warm cherry tomato....
                 straight from the vine,....a juicy, red marble

She picks two or three, along with a weed,
while I sit like a drone in, that old tire throne
that dangles and sways from the old Cottonwood tree...

"Try these, dear"...she says..."They are delicious....sweet as sugar on a Sunday morn"
           She holds one out to me, and I taste this juicy morsel of goodness...

Before she goes inside, she clutches the apron closed ...
   then with one hand reaches down
      and gently pets the old hound, who sleeps in the shade
         and somehow, the vision of her begins to fade,
As hard as I try.....it is fading....and then I hear the sound of an airplane overhead...

Suddenly, I am standing in my garden, 
             and the cherry tomatoes in my pail are shining in the sun
                and juice is lingering in my mouth....sweet as sugar on a Sunday morn....
                    and I feel warm glow of satisfaction under the summer sun



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