Poem by Stan Galloway
Photo by Nicky Yurcaba
The summer I was 8 at grandpa’s farm,
Louise, the girl next door, and I discovered
little swallows in a nook behind the barn.
They were too small to fly; we watched in awe,
content to wonder, happy as the swallows grew.
The summer I was 12 at grandpa’s farm,
Louise and I pursued the little swallows,
hiding when the mother bird would poke her beak
into the mouths of young ones, sliding far enough
to leave a morsel then back out. We watched them all.
The summer I was 16, grandpa’s farm was heaven
for me. Lou and I had studied little swallows,
seen the bigger swallows, and were budding
ornithologists. We spent our evenings
at the barn repeating little swallows’ lore.
This summer I turned 20. Grandpa’s farm was sold
and I asked Lou to live with me. A dairy cottage
gave us housing in return for farm work
and we found it didn’t matter where we lived,
joined as we were by love of little swallows.
-refers from artwork titled Lost and Found by Jonathan K Rice