Summer's End

The film is grainy,
the one that shows me
and my small sister
walking along tall rows of corn,
then sitting, her in front of me,
bareback on the big old horse.
My dad is smiling,
mopping his brow,
in the Okanagan heat,
my mother, in white shorts
and sleeveless white blouse,
is forever, now, hoeing
along the rows,
helping the water trickle
across the thirsty roots.

My father died that summer,
suddenly, of heart and summer heat.
The last Christmas of
my mother's life,
we watched the film again,
and she cried and cried
for those lost glory days
among the corn,
and all that would be lost
by summer's end.


for Marian's prompt at Real Toads: Summer's End. The John Prine video showing a child among the cornstalks reminded me of a long ago corn patch and a definitive summer when I was just fourteen. Also sharing with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United, fine reading every Sunday morning.