BY SUSAN SHEA
Copyright is held by the author.
New to this mountainous area, looking blank dull
like I needed enlightenment, my bigfoot handyman
told me to watch out for Pike County potatoes that will
pop up from my mossy lawn to twist my ankle, break my
revolving mower blade and my world out of shape.
I thanked him, making my face smile like I imagined
country people smile a smile I would never
have given on my old screeching subway ride to work.
I would have to learn that stones are softened into
potatoes here a place where food
walks across my driveway gobbling watching us
wave to each other never knowing when
one of us may need to cook its substance in our waiting pot.
Susan Shea, a retired school psychologist, who was born in New York City, and now lives in a forest in Pennsylvania. This year, her poems have been accepted in a few dozen publications, including Across the Margin, Avalon Literary Review, Ekstasis, Feminine Collective, and Military Experience and the Arts, and New English Review.