Tree-tiered ridges tower hay fields
Trespassed in rocks, stumps,
Tarnishing harvests
With difficulty.

Dead wood, dry wood demons into fireplaces
Developing morning heat
Deviling up chimneys
Before breakfast.

Brown eggs scrambled, bread pan-fried,
Buttered, dripping honey.
Bent-back farmers
Curl gnarled fingers.

Footsteps...grayed barns. Fevered eyes scan fields
Fried and iced with centuries
Favoring the best, the worst,
The least, the most.

Memories of quilts, beds, much sleep, no dreams.
Mules shackled in grandfather straps
Muster legs to motion
Toward fields again.

Age, time...no separation.
Anger, pain...no reparation.
As seasons fill...no delineation.
A huge basket brings Paradise
To suspendered, deadened, plow mules.

Submitted to Appalachian Heritage, Kentucky

elysabeth faslund

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pitchforks-and-turkey-in-the-straw/