Striking A Bargain

One summer my mother promised A hickory-nut cake If I would go down cellar And do the churning. I proceeded to that place Of shadows, that cool Chamber fragrant with crocks Of apple butter And nine-day pickles. Although I had rather Gone fishing for bluegills (Outside cicadas sounded Like the click of a reel) I soon Became absorbed In the rhythm of the churn, At first a casual Swishing, a splashing. Then after several minutes Resembling the plopping Of a bullfrog into a pond. I plied that plunger Up and down, up and down Until, on lifting the lid At last, I saw a mass Of pale yellow gold Abloom in that dusky hold.

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...