I woke in the dark
and watched light rise up
behind the trees, pale gray
to a backlit lemon yellow
turning gold and unlikely
blue, the colors blossoming
My father’s brother wasn’t right. They kept him
Locked up for years back there at the old farm.
I’ve been away once – yes, I’ve been away.
The State Asylum.
he taught me
the geometry of carpentry
the mysteries
of plumbing, told me
dirty jokes
A book by the celebrated author, poet, and farmer that takes on racism, the Civil War, and his life’s work.
In two handfuls of the finished compost there are more microorganisms
than people on earth, says Mike.
I’m the wretch the song’s about
Old warriors rarely
say anything about
people they killed or
horrors they saw
The Amish have become an experiment in herd immunity, the direction where we all seem to be headed in the U.S.
Their prose often stood head and shoulders above the standard freshman drivel, exhibiting a certain rigor of thought and depth of feeling that perhaps comes from having witnessed whole anthologies of trauma—entire villages razed by fire, wide-eyed children draped in gore, wives screaming beside mutilated husbands.
Before the revolution, later today, I must admire the chiffon sky, Read a story and the weather report, Feed the fish, find a card for a thank you note. Before … Continue reading →
As farmers once were, police are isolated from the communities they are supposed to serve. Farmers in upstate New York used to view Cornell’s agricultural extension services with suspicion. What … Continue reading →