Corn

She came out of the cornfield
The way she went in

Head bowed

Collar up

As though the blades of stalks

Were rain

And she must fend off the spray.

As she exited the long

Narrow row

Her eyes rose to mine

Where I leaned against the fender

Waiting her to finish her crazy need

To investigate field corn.

Between her lips

White teeth shone

As straight as the corn rows

She’d explored.

What? No corn?

Of course not.

They aren’t ours, goofy.

I already knew her answer

But asked just the same.

Then let’s go buy some.

She smelled like green things

As she got in the car.

Like fresh soil.

Like earth.

Her smile remained

As we hunted a farm stand

For corn.

Years later, that morning

Returns her to me

Bracketed in corn

And smiling like the sun.