grain bends beneath the wind’s rough hand

pets the Earth, her fur, her cheek, her tail

she’s loyal to her master, but he’s her slave


the grain bends low, the wheat, the chaff

hewn down for the making of home grown bread

and she is shaved of all her tress, trussed,


take the beauty of another for your own

given like treasure, queenly throne

but not without offering up your thanks

lest she turn and rend thee

no forgetting

as after all her children fed,

their bellies full from her own body,

rest and waken to plant new seed

for the tending of home grown bread