Spring with its promise of holidays
was come on the open farm
behind the house
behind your father’s house.
You knew this:
you caught on our way
your father’s asparagus
sprouted out of earth.
Inside my fool brother sought your sister.
You knew this too:
I had allergies and sneezed
and you wiped my nose
and yours from the laughter.
In the tall grass after
I asked: if you too stooped to marry,
where was the field you, you would sow
and what would you grow there?
You parted the dirt. Me? Oh, no. Here, see?
At the harvest he will reap his plenty.
-Netanel Schwartz
