Cottonwoods In the cottonwood grove
behind Dahl's farm
the eyes of rustling cars
stare at me before
I crawl into them,
pretend I am driving;
power flows from the wheels,
I believe I am in control;
forget my mother's heart
lies fading in a little bedroom
beyond the rows of corn.
They have sent me away
from her dying
to play in the grove,
to whisper into the ears of corn
towering above me
as I sit between the rows
reading her letters
which say she misses me,
even though it is quieter without me
and my brother fighting.
He has brought her a goldfish
from the little pond
beside the pergola house
and laid it on her stomach.
Years later I return to the grove,
where the cottonwood trees
have grown scrawny,
but the old cars are still there,
their eyes stare at me,
unseeing and dead.
Phebe Hanson****************
RL
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