The first summer Mr. Miller planted winter wheat,
he brought us a jar with a red rose on the lid
full of seeds smooth as fannies. He handed them
to my mother to show her what he would be planting.

She said yes seeds were good as kittens to teach
her children about life. The first day I took
Social Studies, we read about store-bought bread.
I told the teacher I knew about the wheat part.
“Just read the page,” she said.

Before harvest, we drove to church and stopped
past our lawn. In a fog, spiders wove webs
like Queen Anne’s lace as far back as the woods.
I would have begged my parents to stop and watch
until the sun if I’d known the webs would break.

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