The Heart of the Farm

for Joy

The woman, the wife, of course, could be the heart,

The husband could, or the children, doing their part

To keep machinery humming—the chore machine,

The pet machine, the house-barn-garden machine.

They grow up fast on farms, those children do.

Maybe the heart of the farm is the land. It’s true

Each generation adds their hard-earned sweat

To the soil, but it’s the land sustaining it.

I think the heart of the farm is made of wood,

Or maybe metal and enamel, handed down

When someone in the family could buy new

Or someone died. The kitchen table holds

Conversations, accounts payable, and food–

It’s so alive it almost makes a sound.

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