Discoveries

At Grandpa's farm, I discovered much:
an abandoned room of bottles that I mustn't touch,
a play house complete with wire wreath,
the delicious sense of being a secret in the grasses,
the courage to climb a shiny, silver bin--
but best was the nest of kittens in the barn,
soft ears folded over tiny, hard heads--
perfect translucent claws clutching
air as revealed in the dim loft-light,
hues and patterns noted, then cradled,
softly, under my chin.

Once I thought I found a way to grow time:
rise early, and precious days expand,
grow long past expectation. Each morning
I'd step through darkness to the kitchen's light
radio murmur of hog/corn/bean prices,
and find my grandpa, always in his chair,
cutting toast squares for cats.
The ritual feeding: from back porch, to barn,
to machine shed, to silo and grinding shed;
the herd of cats; the happy dogs;
the eager, round-eyed cattle--Grandpa
led in his great rubber boots. He seemed
rather like the knobby-knuckled, wry
or silently laughing farm's soul.
With him my day began and expanded
through dust and mystery.

With age comes knowledge,
with even two or three new years.
When the kitchen, too, was silent--
my grandpa, old and in need of more sleep--
I stepped outside, somehow bereft,
walked alone to the silo, watched
color seep up the edge of a navy sky.

You never get more time--
only the hint of a coming sun,
the rose and turquoise rim
around the turning earth.