Caren Krutsinger Poet Prose Poetry

Cornfields Are Ouchy

Cornfields are ouchy, I know. I am from the corn state – Iowa.
Corn grows on tall stalks, out in a field that has gobs of 
fat green worms.
You need a tractor to get through it.
Or a tank.
But farmers do not have tanks.

You cannot see anything except corn stalks when
you get there; rows and rows of them.
Taller than people. There is no running. Moving 
is difficult.  There is a corn smell too, but a smell
so unique to corn, it cannot be understood. 
It must be lived.  

The corn husks are tough, rough, they hurt your hands.
The stalks are painful to step on, 
The corn itself is nothing like the canned corn you eat.
Hard as a fork tine, please do not try and bite it out here.
Cornfields are ouchy and itchy.
I know.  I am from the corn state.

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M. L. Kiser January 3, 2019 at 6:35 PM My Dad grew corn in his garden; he also grew strawberry popcorn, which is tasty and colored corn and we'd make wreathes and centerpieces for the holiday table. This brought back some memories. Caren Krutsinger January 3, 2019 at 9:53 PM Ah, I do believe your Dad and I would have been forever friends, my friend. As a weird coincidence my dad, and three of my closest friend's dads were all 4 born on March 15th, different years.

Michelle Faulkner January 3, 2019 at 3:10 PM I remember the smell of fresh corn, truly can not duplicate it, actually makes me want to husk corn ears right now! (how weird, huh?) Caren Krutsinger January 3, 2019 at 4:25 PM Michelle, from one farm woman to another, not weird in the least to me and my sniffer; a great childhood reminder moment probably.

Mahtab Bangalee January 3, 2019 at 5:15 AM beautiful description on Corn and its collection Caren Krutsinger January 3, 2019 at 6:14 AM Ah, yes, Mahtab, and there is a smell also but it is unique to corn and cannot be described. It must be lived. I may have to try and add this somewhere.