I have, have, have

Has your nine year old self
ever wandered through corn fields
row by row, peeling back tassels, husks
of almost-ripe-almost-ready-not
not
not
yet, silver queens? Always hoping
the next one will be

close your eyes

big
yellow
juicy
enough to sentence to the boiling pot?

Barefooted
and wild up and down
down
down
plowed dirt buried toes

heat matting hair to your face?

Or caught yourself in a farmer’s winter field
staring down tilled rows of cold
cold
cold
ground,wondering how far
you’d get if you followed them?