These Happy Golden Years

[Wilcken]

"Laura felt a warmth inside her. It was very small, 
but it was strong. It was steady, like a tiny light in the dark,
and it burned very low but no winds would make it flicker
because it would not give up." 

                                                  - Laura Ingalls Wilder

The breath of my future exhales audibly 
through your beard and mustache. 
You bring out beaver pelts and I stop short 
of the word poach, head it off at the pass 
because this is new.  And I like new things. 
You press my hand deep into soft fox tails
and I am suddenly so sure I want to break horses 
under buttermilk skies, picket the cow to grass, 
churn butter, and rinse my face in the wash basin 
at day’s end. 

Wait. My eyes open.
You give me a hand up. We are clumsy, pushing 
our naked bodies into shoes, 
laces left to sprawl in this shambolic room.
The floor dips and creaks. My mind 
rallies back because this is no porch
but a lean-to on the Dakota plains
at the edge of Indian Territory. 
 
No. I step across the dark in a slight crouch. 
We stand naked in the smoked-meat night air 
of your rented yard on a county road. 
Our pale bodies illuminated 
by cones of passing headlights 
and you are nothing like Pa or Almanzo. 

Naked you are a barrel of whiskey, 
hands on hips and feet planted, 
a warm arc of piss onto the waiting ground. 

Even as a girl, knee deep in the Plum Creek 
of my young mind, I understood 
why Mr. Edwards was single. 

There! Your finger like a dart 
points at a cluster of maples 
in the moonshadows and yes, 
I can see it too, the shape
of a neighbor’s dog or cat, 
someone’s pet.  You say dog 
but when I look up at you:
a rifle 
perched on your shoulder, 
steady enough to freeze me stiff.

My thoughts tumble 
into The Long Winter ahead. 

I will never wear a blue-lined poke bonnet, 
or beat the egg whites stiff for my wedding cake 
to bake in the pot belly stove; but for a long stretch 
of days I will twist up hay to burn 
when the poaching runs cold.

[Antcliff]

Wilko
Very enjoyable as ever.

I do not know much about Little House on Prairie though...so a good many specific references are lost to me.

If I have it, this expresses the viewpoint of one of the couple in a far from a little house on the prairie situation. It comes through loud and clear. This being highlight for me:

I will never wear a blue-lined poke bonnet,
or beat the egg whites stiff for my wedding cake
to bake in the pot belly stove; but for a long stretch
of days I will twist up hay to burn
when the poaching runs cold.

There is a lovely intertwining in many places of images taken from the context..but which also carry other meanings (or feel so). Being felt before being (fully) understood is the thing in much great poetry. This is felt before I fully understand it. Which is success IMHO. The emotion being resignation in the face of a falling short of the ideal?

I, on the other hand, wear a blue-lined poke bonnet everyday.

Seth

[Zorro]

The sheer intensity of this poem grabs me. The woman's intense awareness of what being with this man and choosing this life MEANS, with small matters speaking of larger. No doubt many readers will find resonance in their own experience and life choices.

[Wilcken]

HI Zorro,

Welcome to Poet's Graves. I'm still so new myself! Appreciate your comments and I'm glad this came through for you.

Seth,

How can I not like you as a reader? I wrote this one a while ago and got only a little feedback so I wanted to give it another pass.

I'm happy to hear you got this even without knowing the references first hand. Laura Ingalls Wilder is standard fare over here, and especially in Minnesota. I know that I have to click on google and wiki myself quite often here at PG to try to keep up with the language and social references, so I appreciate that you were able to reciprocate and come into this world. I'd forgotten that phrase about a poem being felt before being understood and that's a nice reminder for me.

Cheers
Wilcken

[David]

Wilko - if I may purloin Seth's affectionate name for you - I like this one too, pretty much along the same lines as Seth himself. When I was but a wee bitty lad, Little House on the Prairie was, like Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, just one of those American imports I didn't watch. But I always enjoyed a good Western, I still do, and I got a lot of the impression of a good Western from this.

Without wishing to resemble Seth's very own mini-me too much, I also agree that the closing section is the stand-out. Minnesota, though? I've never really thought of that as Western country, but at one time, of course, it must have been.

Cheers

David

[Wilcken]

Thanks so much for commenting David, even in Seth's shadow. Much obliged.

And yes, this was her home for a good long while. Also Wisconsin, Iowa, South Dakota. West is always relative though, innit?

Wilko