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Boxcars

04 Sep
Ambrosia, Pink Lady, and Honey Crisp
flaunt ruby as harvest apples appear.

Stacked ears of corn on the cob
await shucking, boiling, salt & butter,
then the chattering-smile of front teeth.
Cleaning the cob a row at a time
will probably need a toothpick
or a fingernail. 

When the tooth fairy got my front
teeth at the age of six, my mom
would cut the corn from the cob
with a sharp knife. She called
them boxcars because the
strips of kernels resembled a train.

Mom has been gone for decades,
but her loving nearness is as fresh
as this late summer's end.

 
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Posted by on September 4, 2021 in Poetry

 

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