By Valerie L. Egar
As published in: The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review
Their extravagant size caught our eyes,
pine cones big as baby porcupines.
We’d seen them back east
in craft stores, florist shops,
several bucks each. Here,
the wealth lay in piles for free.
First, we said we’d take a few,
then, some for friends,
and more, until our hands
were sticky, the back seat
a prickly bed. The pine scent
turned an ordinary Tuesday
into Christmas, the car, a sleigh,
loaded with good will,
brimming with a harvest
we planned to give away.
Too dirty to carry in a suitcase,
too many to carry in a bag,
we scrounged a box
from a grocery and packed
them to mail, seeds dropping
on blue motel carpet:
thousands of seeds on blue pile,
Grandma and I laughing,
our hands tarred with evergreen seeds.