Listen to the pine splits
crack in the stove
clouds down our roof like
burnt pine, milk
The smell of come in the shack

A breeze on the wall
from boiling tomatoes
A baby snorts air
while it sucks a tender breast

it was time to put apricots
out in the sun,
cover them with cheesecloth

Nothing but the whine of bad mud
between the cabin logs
I hum Cold Blew The Bliss
to the cild, touch fattened dough
I wait for the sound of his truck
hoeing a splutter of thawed ditch

And when he comes he points his rifle
at the floor, lets the dog
smell his pants

Soup’s about done