Читать книгу Long after Lauds - Jeanine Hathaway - Страница 11

At two, you learn to mulch short rows beside the stone fenced orchard.

Your parents fork then rake through compost, easy in their chores until

startled by a shadow twitch, your mother ekes out

the name of your father who, now unfocused, lifts his head, as her keen edge

guides his gloved hand courageous toward the sunny stripe that parts

rye grass from granite. One foot long, the dangled snake reveals

its copper back, its belly private crimson. Toddle a fresh furrow,

earnest in your boots. You lean in to kiss what you hadn’t known was there.

Close by, the apple trees hum, your mother’s bees fuss in the petals.