I don’t claim to know very much,
but these things I know for certain.
Hymns sound best when sang outdoors,
and old bed sheets make the best curtains.
Coffee tastes best from a percolator,
with canned milk, rich and creamy.
Fresh bread smells like heaven,
sliced thick with butter, hot and steamy.
The eggs and tortillas kind of take center stage here, but note the enamel percolator on the warmer. Side note: everything tastes better when cooked on a wood stove.
Sheets feel delicious when dried outside,
they capture the smell of the wind.
While on the line they make a great tent
for kids who are playing pretend.
Lipstick and dresses look good on the ranch,
although practical, they really are not.
Neither are flowers, but yet they still bloom
atop my fridge in a hand-painted pot.
Soft dirt belongs between my toes
when the air warms up in the spring.
Lilacs make the sweetest perfume,
better than a sample in any magazine.
Yes, I realize the blooms pictured above are wildflowers, not lilacs, but I thought they were so pretty and wild and wonderful that they deserved a photographic representation in this poem.
My cheek rests on my husband’s chest,
when I lean into his strong embrace.
I can smell dirt and sweat from his work,
and feel his shirt snaps press into my face.
It has been pointed out to me, more than once and usually by my husband, that I am short. When I disagree, Jim says “You think you’re big? Good for you.” And he means it. He’s supportive like that.
Freedom lies just beyond my front door,
when I step out into God’s open country.
No locked gates, crowds or traffic,
just the cactus, cedar trees and me.
This is where I live. What a great backyard, right?