those days the sun flew like corn flour
freshly ground at the mill’s race
even in winter it was yellow
when I pressed it down with my thumb
like an unfastened button on my chest

I cut my way hardly with a club
through the tall weed field
until my knee high socks
were filled with thistle tassels
jumping over the fence like a thief
in our apple orchard
so no one knew where I was

when the Big Dipper rose over the barn
I slipped on the manger’s opening
inside freshly cut grass
stealing my grandma’s small chair for milking
singing for the young foal with caramel skin

those days all hearts were red and warm
in the shape of a ginger bread heart
each star was a story
whispered by fairies in the daffodils’ glade