Morning Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

Sometimes at this time of year
I get up to go to the bathroom
When you're 77 almost 78
Nature calls and you answer.

On the Myakka Prairie
It's never really dark
So light, some nights
You can see colors.

I look out the inside window
Across the equipment in the barn
Out across the field, to my neighbor
Half-mile to the East.

If it's still dark at their house
I know it's not four in the morning
Otherwise you'll see lights
Often as not, the television is on.

Work, that's what it's all about
Because every day
Sometime about four
They are getting ready to go to work.

But when you are old,
Old to the point where
You don't have a “Real Job”
As neighbor, Eugene Haynes like to say,

You trek to the bathroom.
If it's after four,
Feel for the heat
From the cast iron stove.

Turn on the lights
Add a couple small logs
And a piece of fat wood
And go to the refrigerator.

On the bottom shelf
Is a coffee can where you put grease.
Grease from the frying pan
Poured in on top of pieces of paper towel.

Selecting one,
Not one in particular
But one that is heavy with grease
You return to the stove.

A flash of light and fire
From the propane lighter
Is enough to start the burn
And the grease quickly starts.

Close the stove's door,
There's no need to check it further
For soon the blaze from the grease
Ignites the fat wood (lighter) .

The lighter
Fuels the burn of the oak wood.
The wood refuses to start
But within ten minutes you have Fire.

Back to bed or maybe the computer.
The computer is always on.
Waiting, waiting
The screen is dark but awakens.

And you think.
Think of others
Who are awake
And those who are asleep.

Real people
Who don't have cows
To worry about
Or to feed.

But have other worries
That crowd out their interest
They can't see the moon glow
On the Myakka Prairie.