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...TO-MORROW TO FRESH WOODS AND PASTURES NEW' by AMY LOWELL IF HE SHOULD COME by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMESDAY BOOK: THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NO EXEMPTION FOR TOURISTS by KAREN SWENSON |