The Farmer’s

Can I tell you that

I love how you write

a poem then shoot

a gun?

How you drink wine

as if you aged along

with it and you smoke

the weed you grew

up alongside?

Can I tell you that

I love how you skin

a carcass from

your brother’s hunt

and then serve it

as beautiful as

it once was?

How you pull on

your muddy boots

to walk through 

chicken shit

just

to meet me at

the barn door

for a kiss?

Can I tell you

that I love how

you can shake

with anger

and cry with

a profound fear?

How you know the 

world is bigger than 

just us but you 

know what you have 

just right here?

Can I tell you

that I love how

you can pick up

a dead animal

and know that it

served us for

its day?

How you are 

a farmer’s daughter 

and a farmer in

yourself?

Can I tell you

that I want to

be planted in 

your garden?

I want to be 

sowed through 

your fields?

So you can see

my flowers

So I can give you

what I yield?