One place understood helps us understand all places better.

Eudora Welty


Sunday, June 11, 2023

The Baler

I think a blade of grass
doesn't quite express
the journeyman's work,
a day man to the stars?

but I'd rather
a pasture full
of tall waving

Our orchard grass
grows high in summer
but I always wonder
from whose orchard?
We have none.

I do not run
through the fields,
I do not tramp
a path across

I've seen it done
and think little
of those that do.

I sit and watch
at the height
of the grass stalk
I sit and watch
as if I could talk

And the stalks
will answer
if the wind
is right

And if not
I still sit and watch
for the glint
of the sun off a blade
Uncut by the baler
who comes a journeyman
to our farm
with his machine.

I know it is fall
I know the hay
must be baled
the cattle can't wait

But the blades
of grass turning
into pale round
bales, motionless
too quiet,
I sit and watch.