It was not the petting zoo my son was enthralled with
Out at the farm in Bonsack
It was not the piglets, not the goats
Nor the bunnies nor the cows
Only a moment he spent
In the kernel pit before wanting out
Or in the pumpkin patch before nursing
And though he has a love for tractors
Sitting focused at the wheel
Mastering the gears and levers at sixteen months
Though he rode with us on the hay wagon
With eyes wide for the pasture
It was in the corn maze that he screamed for his daddy
Not with fear
But with blooming vigor for the continual rush of life!
I know this!
I know this like I know that
Sheep do bleat, that
Cows do bellow, that
Pigs do snort, that
Corn can come in rainbow glass gems if we so wish!
I hide in the stalks and he seeks me
He chases me beside the leaves browning
He yells “Go! Go!” as I carry him on my shoulders
And the tassel tops bob in the wind
Like waving hands, like hidden witnesses!
We are no agritourists!
We are pioneers!
Forging through the maize forest
Seizing that world so fresh and strong!
Together, his arms up above in triumph!
We carve our path and we reap our bounty!
Like my father and I before me!
Like my father and I before me.