Beyond the petroglyph, a child's greasy handprint on the rock, the wind scuffs up red dust along the road that bucks and sidewinds the hogback's barren ridges. It dead-ends at boarded windows, secret as blind men's glasses, the sign nailed to the porch. JOSIE MORRIS 1874-1964 ALONE SHE TILLED THE ORCHARDS AND THE MEADOWS. Walking her property, I make her up - a small, rawhide woman, hair a frowsy halo, eyes large, fishnetted in lines that tauten at her temples. Alone, land and weather were her lovers, no more temperamental than other women's men. She disciplined their children, raised orchards and meadows tame, managed the estate her lovers lent her and brought her harvest in as they were ripening her to nourish finally her fruits gone wild and bitter in the sun. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ARMAGEDDON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO TIME by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ADMETUS; TO MY FRIEND RALPH WALDO EMERSON by EMMA LAZARUS CORPORATE ENTITY by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH EIGHTEEN-DOLLAR TAXI TRIP TO TIZAPAN AND BACK TO CHAPALA by CLARENCE MAJOR |