Maine by Molly Bogin

Gunpowder stitched into my corduroys
Makes me think of Maine
Fields of golden hay
Up to our knees, up to our knees

We followed streams a mile long
Running carelessly, home with dirty feet
Wash off outside, entry denied

In Maine, Maine

Milanos in the second drawer
Baking berry pies, smiles a mile wide
Wild and sweet, picked from the trees

Glass bottles lined along the window
Shining green and gold, postcards hiding holes
Cards on the walls, hang ‘til they fall

In Maine, Maine

The ocean storms along the sand
High tide along the highway
We swam across the lily pond, the farthest I have ever swum,
We swam across the lily pond

Brown boxes filled a U-haul van
Watched my father cry, tears for time gone by
Six hours down the highway
Landmarks on the road
Memories of autumns in my nose

Thinking of Maine
Fields of golden hay

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