Memory 2

How to live in such a house, in such a way,
the fields stretching out all around.

It's called poetic license -
"the house of some friends I rarely visited"?

It's true that I rarely went up to the house
but I worked in those fields for two or three summers.
One of the owners was a man I'd known since childhood.
(Goddamn hippies. Caring for the earth. Is that the way to live well?)

Long rows of beans to pick
Close your eyes, in bed at night, and see nothing but beans.
Lots of other vegetables too, of course.

I don't miss the monotony of the work
(or the fact that I wasn't fast enough to be considered a good worker)
I certainly don't miss anything else about my adolescence

But the bright blue sky, the clear morning air
the scent of grass and earth
the sweet taste of water when you're thirsty

And the time we saw two bald eagles, circling impossibly high,
the sunlight flashing off their white heads.

I remember those things, while sitting in the office.
Always did hate being stuck indoors.