Fall Rain

Fall, rain and fill the gauge

Enough to count an inch or two

While she prays for other things.

 

The broccoli can’t keep its leaves

With chicken hens stripping them,

And the radishes just turned to bush.

 

Might as well pull them up.

Once things go, they’re gone.

Get out the grubbing hoe and work away.

 

Starting over calls for another word

Other than easy just as fall

Calls for finishing, the folding up

 

Of all that kept her so busy.

All summer she knew she could live without him

Only because she had.

 

Now the white cat

Brings a red bird in its mouth—

Too late to save.

 

 

[from the book, Hill Country & Other Poems, recipient of WILLA Literary Award, Finalist for Poetry, from Women Writing the West]