I grew up in Kansas, and it felt like nothing fantastic ever happened. But all that changed the day my dad asked if I wanted to meet a poet. My parents were antique dealers and a potential new client (a poet!) called and wanted an estimate for what it would cost to strip and refinish a desk, chair, and piano.
I couldn’t believe I was going to meet a poet. Nothing this wonderful had ever happened to me. I would get to see how poets lived, and how they decorated their homes. This was going to be awesome!
And it was. I went with dad to meet Patricia Traxler. He looked at her antiques, and I looked at everything else. She hired my parents for the job. And I believe they did additional work for her over the course of a year.
I met a poet!
WHAT THE FIELD KNOWS
At the edge of someone’s plowed field
under July sun we found one scrawny tree I asked you the name
of the weed growing all along
barbed wire nearby you opened
my blouse & kissed my breasts
you said it was either
wild oats or cheat grass
a yellowbilled cuckoo flew by
I took off my blouse
& lay back the afternoon rocked
soft as a cradle
you floated above me like clouds