On the land

On the Land

A farmhouse juts from frozen corn rows,
Like a king on the chessboard of Pennsylvania.
Flicker and flame frolic across waving windows
Handmade in heated furnaces.
Coarse cord stretches across the oversized porch;
On the line longjohns freeze in late frost.
Blue buttons, green buttons, wooden buttons
Hold the rear-opening shut.
Overalls and soiled socks hang from the porch rail.
A barn looms over the pasture.
Hay and straw are strewn
About the timber doors.
Inside, children feed the cows and slop the pigs,
Their cropped blonde hair hidden
By crude cornhusk hats.
A horse whinnies,
Snorting exhaust into the morning sky.
Between his teeth, the horse holds the bit.
The clip-clop, clip-clop of horseshoes striking
Asphalt echoes across the road.
Someone has bolted for safety, an orange triangle
On the rear of the buggy.
The Amish father
Sits in deep leather aroma,
Holding the reigns with calloused hands.
His wire-rimmed glasses hang low on his wind-burned nose
Above his salt-and-pepper beard.
His wife squats roadside
On an old wooden Coca-cola crate,
Her skirts made from pieces of battered quilts.
On the decrepit table she
Arrange a horde of jars,
Orange and purple jars of preserves,
Green jars with pickled cucumbers.
She pulls her tangled hair into a tight bun.