By Cheryl Cowtan
What does it mean to be a country girl?
I could give that question a whirl.
I could write this little ditty,
maybe explain me to the city.
Why, I could walk a mile in rubber boots.
I blow on grass until it toots.
I scratch chewing sap off the pines,
I eat prickly cukes right from the vines.
I cradle rain drops with my tongue.
The glorious wind knots my hair,
like the cornfield rows, I do declare!
I use flower petals to make my soap,
I have hot baths and cool pond soaks.
I bring the weeds inside to dry,
hung above the fireplace; mantel high.
Going to town is one big affair,
get all dressed up and do my hair.
I let the new calf suck my hand,
wipe it on my jeans, ‘cause I can.
This porch I painted “corn blue” and “wheat,”
is the place I put up my feet.
City’s nice to visit; but they say,
that once you’re country, you’re here to hay.
Molasses, black oily beast!
Come out, come out!
The children want cookies.
Don’t make me fight you,
exit your lair!
Molasses, it is not cold!
Do not resist the warm baking.
I’ll scoop you,
I will draw you out with forked raking.
Molasses, you’re not worthy,
of ground clove and cinnamon.
One cup is all I ask.
And help me make ginger men.
Cheryl R Cowtan is a mother of two who will be graduating from York University this spring. Previously a social worker and soon-to-be a teacher, Cheryl enjoys working with and writing about people. This summer, Cheryl’s first children’s book, The “Open Yar Mouth” Health Care Lottery, will be available in bookstores. Http://www.cherylcowtan.com