Cradling the corner, humping the hill
skimming to the bottom of Prospect Hill
a twinkling bell at the door
invites us in at Annie’s Antique Store.

Just looking we said
at dressers, chairs, and beds

Brushing against edges of long ago
waking snuggled reveries
of what use to show

we cross the line trading memories.
How things have changed from times ago
of ours and hers on the farm.
So many things have lost their charm:

walking to school in all kinds of weather
milking cows I never did but Annie was a pro
working in gardens and with green tobacco
our close encounters with two mother cows

she a child when only three knocked down
by the one with a hooked right horn

yet later fearlessly shackling the legs
of old Bessie who kicked her milkers

Wouldn’t want to do those thing today.
The old days were not as good as we say.

We bought a print of Birman kittens
for three dollars or so.

They all have paws of white you know.

I asked Annie if she had milking hands.
She opened them for me to see;
didn’t cost me a cent

Some people are paintings yet to be.

(Berea, KY 2006)

Ben Gieske

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/milking-hands/