What We Have

Here in the gray fields of dawn,
I rise from the bed as quiet as a hawk.
This early, morning is almost bearable.

I splash some water from the tin basin
and become for a moment a river.
Then I move to the lean-to kitchen.

Bacon hits the hot pan,
sizzles like a wet cat.
The sun stains yellow as a yolk.

I mix flour from the sack with lard,
cook up the biscuits quick.
Nothing fancy, just food that will weigh

until the sun walks high in the sky.
A belly heavy as a stone
is better than a gut full of nothing.