Watcher at the kitchen window
Everybody else had a house by the side of the road but our farm home kept its distance.
It was five-minute trudge
from our modest built-onto house
to the roadside mail box. (I remember
some brave and determined lilacs
along the way.)
At the time of choosing a farm
our Mother had found her voice;
she liked this place.
She could see from the kitchen window
any visitors turning into our driveway.
The distance gave her time
to don a clean apron
and quickly get a few things in order,
not forgetting the bread in the oven.
