Greg German, Glen ElderGreg German submitted a sequence of 10 harvest poems, three of which are included on these pages. The poems follow a young boy, his father, and grandfather through their own personal harvests. Currently a resident of Kansas City, Kansas, German wrote about his experiences on the family farm near Glen Elder. sweat with cool. Dirty faces and tired hands ask for more. Harvest surrounds us. Backs lean against the truck--a wind break, a puddle of shade. Hats hang on knees. Lemonade shivers in glasses. Dad tallies dead flies. Each one dazed with a slap. "Roast beef or ham salad sandwiches?" "Pass the fried chicken." " Some salt, please." " Potato salad?" " Thanks, Mom." Bits of tomorrow's plans shuttle between bites. Banana peels flop into wheat stubble like carp. Chocolate chips in cookies melt. " Take another." Hot wind crowds between us. "Strawberry Jell-O? It's almost gone. Potato chips?" Grandpa belches fulfillment. Dirt blows onto the brownies. A lump of muscles, my brother stretches sleep across a blanket. Combines idle behind us, tethered dinosaurs hungry for the next round. 
Greg German also submitted poems about The
1st Day of Harvest and The Last Day of
Harvest. |
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