Homeless in Arkansas

From the very beginning I was in love with

the natural world. My nursery rhymes were

wind blowing through treetops, gurgling

streams, the croaking

of bull frogs from pond-side. I sucked

on silky stems of wild mint and crawled

through fragrant fields of strawberries.

Once in awhile I’d help Mother fill a bag

with blackberries or red raspberries

sagging on a fence row. Often we slept

on a blanket under one of the dippers

so close I thought I could touch it

if only my arm were longer. I’d fall

asleep listening to crickets and tree frogs and

an occasional hoot-owl. Others

who had homes sometimes fed us. 

We’d trek over the foothills from one

to another, I a toddler nestled

between Mother’s warm breasts,

not knowing I was poor.

Pat Martin