Baling Hay
What I didn't know then
A grunt and heave,
and it sets the load,
a fine row.
Midwest cotton,
dirty yellow,
alfalfa scented,
hands protected.
White legs toasty,
sweltering summer heat.
//
Suffused stems,
shallow scraping,
stings on contact -
Mercurochrome later.
Lifting bales
is an art.
Bending again,
muscles tighten,
hoist up,
motion continues
'til sundown.
//
Sweat perfume,
dripping hair,
suction back tee.
Candy cane shoulders,
filth smatters
forehead to ankle.
Last to shower
gentle fountain,
washing clean.
Shiver of shock,
damp cool.
Sheer fabric,
drops in place,
skin cradled.
//
Inviting plates
of hearty food,
steam rising.
End of day.
Time to play.
Star Trek calling
from the screen.
Night-time
daydreaming,
eyes droop.
//
Crisp sheets cradle,
sighs of fulfillment,
gentle breeze,
green cut scent.
Crickets chirp,
bugs flit,
air -
sings, near silent.
Occasional glimpse
of traveling lights,
silhouette of distant
Mainstreet.
//
Tiptoe outside,
supine on spongy grass,
galaxy, Milky Way, overhead.
Path of stars,
an infinite, unfathomable crush.
Better to envision
an endless city,
than be eaten by one.
**This author would argue that there are more than five senses ;) **
About the Creator
Jennifer Lorraine - Bloch McGee
*Imagination is the plaything of fairies. Without imagination we are doomed*
My heart and soul goes into my writing. If I don't bleed a little, I haven't done it right.
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More stories from Jennifer Lorraine - Bloch McGee and writers in Poets and other communities.
Six Feet Under
Buried alive. What a horrible way to go. Yazz lay there, in her own thoughts. What else could she do? She was hungry, thirsty, tired, mentally, and physically exhausted, and more than anything, she was bored. She hoped she would die of boredom before anything else, anything else would've been more painful. Like many people had, she and her friends had talked about what they reckon the worst ways to die were, it was a morbid subject, but it came up every now and again. Yazz had always been one to argue her point on drowning, others had mentioned burning alive, slowly and painfully bleeding to death, hung drawn and quartered, and being starved to death. It was strange that none of them had considered being buried alive, it had never come up. But now, she was thinking back to those conversations her and her friends had had, how could they have not thought about it? It took a lot longer than the others, you were completely confined, you couldn't move or do anything, you just had to wait, until your body was physically unable to support a life system anymore, which could take up to four days. Four! By far the longest out of all of them. She recounted some of these conversations just to try and pass the time, anything to pass the time. It was difficult to know how much time had passed since she had been underground, it was difficult to know anything. There were many things that Yazz didn't know, she didn't know where she was, she didn't know how she'd got into the coffin, she'd just woken up there. Yazz also didn't know what time it was, or even what day it was, she guessed at Tuesday, it was Sunday evening when she'd been buried alive, intentionally, and although it had felt like weeks had passed, she was still alive, which means she hadn't died from dehydration, and therefore it couldn't have been more than four days.
By Liam Storm3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (7)
This broke me; every word fell so perfectly into place!
Excellent work.
I felt like I was there, wonderful descriptions. I would also argue there are more than five senses😉
Congratulations, Jennifer! This was fantastic. It brought back so many memories for me of my grandparents' farm in Kansas. I could experience each moment as I read each stanza!
Nicely done. Congrats.
That is how you nail a brief 😁😎 And I agree with you - there are far more than five!
Oh my gosh, I can feel every bit of this!!! Absolutely gorgeous descriptions! I am itchy all over from the hay scratches now and I haven’t touched hay in almost a decade 🤣😁