Poem of the Month

CONNECTIONS by Frank McMahon

 

Did it start as we helped to build the stooks

of wheat, the terrier ratting in the furrows?

Or going with our uncle to the river’s tongues,

to stand astride the narrow channels

pail in hand as the tide flowed out,

invite the fish to enter? Or the journey

early morning on the horse-drawn cart

to take the churns of milk to the gathering place?

 

Hands rooted in loamy soil, routed from farm

to garden, connections to necessities,

taken in like morning air

or stroke of wind on cheek, neural,

microrizal symbiosis, budding now

in the beads of sweat and gathered fruit.