"For my mother, a farmer, at 80"
by Heidi Annexstad
She is my mother. I love her nonetheless,
With the terse, ungrateful love of a child
Who sees only the flaws she gave me
And none of the virtues she kept for herself.
The five-gallon buckets she carried to the calves,
The bales she lifted, the numberless loaves she kneaded-
Any one of these chores would break me.
There is no weakness in her.
There is only my father, dormant in a chair.
She wakes him up to ask if he's asleep.
I know just what she means by this: Don't die.
I have seen her in tall grass, dropped down on her knees
To feel the April crocus brush her cheek.
The greening prairie rises, sufficient, and bears her.
About the Author
Heidi Annexstad lives with her fine husband and sons in Golden Valley, MN. She hasn't written a poem for years but finds that she now gets enough sleep at night to string words together during the day. She plans to use her economic stimulus check to fix the leaky faucets in her house.
Bed of Roses Love Sonnet Contest Winner
Lovingly selected from the earliest archives of A Prairie Home Companion, this heirloom collection represents the music from earliest years of the now legendary show: 1974–1976. With songs and tunes from jazz pianist Butch Thompson, mandolin maestro Peter Ostroushko, Dakota Dave Hull and the first house band, The Powdermilk Biscuit Band (Adam Granger, Bob Douglas and Mary DuShane).