Beyond the petroglyph, a child's greasy handprint on the rock, the wind scuffs up red dust along the road that bucks and sidewinds the hogback's barren ridges. It dead-ends at boarded windows, secret as blind men's glasses, the sign nailed to the porch. JOSIE MORRIS 1874-1964 ALONE SHE TILLED THE ORCHARDS AND THE MEADOWS. Walking her property, I make her up - a small, rawhide woman, hair a frowsy halo, eyes large, fishnetted in lines that tauten at her temples. Alone, land and weather were her lovers, no more temperamental than other women's men. She disciplined their children, raised orchards and meadows tame, managed the estate her lovers lent her and brought her harvest in as they were ripening her to nourish finally her fruits gone wild and bitter in the sun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY THE BABYLONIAN HORDES by ISAAC ROSENBERG TO NIGHT by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE CHARGE OF THE HEAVY BRIGADE AT BALACLAVA: THE CHARGE by ALFRED TENNYSON FANCIES AT NAVESINK: 2 by WALT WHITMAN THE HOUSE-WARMING; A LEGEND OF BLEEDING-HEART YARD by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM VELLEN THE TREE by WILLIAM BARNES CEDARS OF LEBANON AT WARWICK CASTLE by MATHILDE BLIND |