He showed me how to bait a hook with worms
we pulled from backyard soil. We whistled blades
of grass, then pried the hook from catfish mouths.
He taught me how to make a pie with crust
that’s flaky golden. When undoing fruit
from knotted trees, he said, “Just twist and pull.”
We washed the berries, apples, pears or plums
and sliced the wedges, sugared summer gold.
When planting corn or beans, we’d till and dig
the pennied earth and hoe to cover seeds.
I shot a gun and drew an arrow, changed
the oil, mowed the lawn. We chopped the wood,
and built a fire, hammered nails and drove
a car. He danced with me before the prom,
and sang some country songs. He picked up strays
and rescued cats and taught me how to ride
a bike, a horse and fly a kite with tails.
Some Things My Mother Taught Me
She showed me how to love a man like Dad.
© 2011 Kim King