National Poetry Month Is Just Around The Corner

Homestead

March 14, 2018

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By April Nelson

Looking back, we were all so earnest,

gathering for our monthly potlucks

of rice and beans and lumpy breads.

Squatting in the cold March mud

to thumb in the broccoli, our breath

small clouds hanging in the damp, chill air.

And the knitting! My god, the knitting!

We did it endlessly, when we weren’t

spinning the wool, or the honey. Sweaters

and shawls and gloves and hats: small wonder

we didn’t clothe the sheep themselves in wool wraps.

The chickens, the pigs.

The chickweed, the pigweed.

Hauling the slops to the pigs, the pigs

to the butcher, the pork chops to the freezer.

It never stopped.

What was it then, that changed? What was it that made us say

“that’s enough,” and scrub our hands raw at the sink

until every trace of soil was gone from under our nails?

It wasn’t the goodness of the first tomato of summer

or the soft down of the chicks

that did us in. Heaven knows those were gifts,

plain and simple.

It was something more basic.

One mud-tracked rug too many,

another torn fingernail,

too many five grain casseroles and no desserts at the potluck.

Something as little as that.

We sold off

the chickens, the tiller. Gave up the lease and

moved back to the rhythm and hum of the city.

Never looked back, never kept track of the cost,

plus or minus. What good would have come of that?

Nothing but heartache and some tallies on a sheet of paper.

No, better to leave that door closed: the knitting unfinished, the herbs gone wild, 

the heart gone to seed.

****

We are days away from National Poetry Month, which I often celebrate by posting a poem a day on my Facebook page. Earlier this month, SWWIM Every Day (Supporting Women Writers In Miami) published one of my poems. 

I won't feature this poem during April because I already have splayed it all across my Facebook page, but I thought I would share it here. 

This is my second publication in a year, after over forty years of silence. The day I received the email from SWWIM saying they would publish my submission, I stared at the screen, gasping for breath. 

Thank you, SWWIM, for giving me the chance.