Ticker Farm
The sky was cool as a sunfish belly,
by high heaven flesh-flecked, flushed and gilded.
Fin-slit frolic, through icy glory swelling,
made her leap, split those thin waters. Threaded
by golden strands, dawn stitched God’s firmament
to the red clay of Ticker farm where Blythe
lined sea blue Mason jars on a time-bent
one-by-six under yellow cellar light.
It was a room dug deep, though not very,
a blank, earthen womb for harvest and babes
kept safe through summer storm; sweet, hidden plenties,
nestled against odds from middle wars waged.
Longing like hope cast by hook and line,
stretched from burial to whimsy.
- - -
Painting: "Sunrise off Margate" by J.M.W. Turner (1775-1851)
to the red clay of Ticker farm where Blythe
lined sea blue Mason jars on a time-bent
one-by-six under yellow cellar light.
It was a room dug deep, though not very,
a blank, earthen womb for harvest and babes
kept safe through summer storm; sweet, hidden plenties,
nestled against odds from middle wars waged.
Longing like hope cast by hook and line,
stretched from burial to whimsy.
- - -
Painting: "Sunrise off Margate" by J.M.W. Turner (1775-1851)