The Long Meadow [poem 3/6]

[flamingsword]

For sushi_slave, because he got in under the wire and gave me something to work with.

The Long Meadow

In the valley, my grandfather grew squash.
In his garden grew many golden things:
Tall corn and sunflowers and me, awash
In hazy light. On June's yellow mornings
We'd make pancakes, mischief, and fishing lures.
Afternoons berry picking by the creek
(That we didn't fish in, and it endures),
Sun-dappled brambles scratched our arms all week
So we could bake pies from summer's sweetness
And eat them too hot, burn our mouths, and hiss.
You remind me of him, of what I miss,
How I was taught to live without regrets.
When you are gone I wish for only this:
The long meadow, full of life and secrets.

Comments

[sushi-slave.livejournal.com]

I LOVE it. Thank you so much!

[kandigurl.livejournal.com]

I really, really love the last two lines especially!

[flamingsword.livejournal.com]

Thanks. Eventually I will be better at crafting poems so that the whole thing flows meaningfully from point to point, but I just started picking the poetry-writing back up as a serious habit in 2008.

Any odd places, or things that don't scan? I'd ask Drunk, above commenter, but as it's for him, he'll feel obligated to not be critical.