May B. Read Free

to show me where I am.
          No trees.
          No stones.
          No wagon ruts this way.
          Just emptiness.
          This isn’t home,
          where I know the land.
          I turn back,
          running,
          until my surroundings are familiar,
          the soddy’s larger on the horizon.
          I must stay close,
          so as to not lose my way.

52

          When the sun is low
          and my tears have dried,
          I stir from my spot in the grass.
          I open the door to the Oblingers’ home.
          The sudden dark,
          cool space
          is quiet,
          empty,
          and strange.
          Pa doesn’t know they won’t return.
          The nearest neighbor is gone.
          I’m here till Christmas.

Part Two

53

          So many times I’ve wished for just a minute
          to linger
          before beginning chores,
          or wished I could skip
          the washing up after supper—
          Now I can do what I want.
          No one’s going to tell me
          to gather fuel
          or start the biscuits.
          There’s no need to cook.
          I’ve got a barrel of apples,
          a bit of corn bread left
          from yesterday.
          I can light the lamp.
          No one can tell me I’m being wasteful,
          using the light just for schoolwork,
          or that it’s time for bed.
          I can do what I want.
          My reader and slate
          don’t need to be hidden away.
          I can keep them out with me.
          With an apple in hand,
          I open my reader:
                
I have been infromed—
          
I have been informed that stranger the name Goodman …
          The letters aren’t working.
                
 … have been informed that a stranger name
                
Goodman …
          I can’t place the words where they belong.
                
 … the name of Goodman has settled near you
                
hope you find in agreeable …
          I squeeze my eyes shut,
          try to focus.
                
 … hope you find him in agreeable …
          Do it again, May.
                
 … find him an … find in him
an-a greeble …
          My fingernails dig into the cover
                
 … ana greeable …
          I fling my reader;
          it smacks the wall.
          Why can’t I do this?
          What is
          wrong
          with me?
          I can speak,
          and hear,
          and see,
          and understand when someone reads to me.
          I follow lessons at school,
          and Ma’s directions in the kitchen.
          I know what words mean.
          So why can’t I do this?
          I
          must
          be
          stupid.

54

          It is morning.
          There is no water,
          no fuel.
          It was foolish to waste time last night.

55

          A sack of buffalo chips
          next to the stove,
          water from the stream,
          coffee in the pot;
          I cannot
          let
          myself
          think.
          Just do chores, May.
          Keep moving,
          go pick some corn.
          Maybe I could try to finish the floor
          Mr. Oblinger left undone.
          There are only a few boards missing.

56

          I bang at the boards,
          not sure exactly
          where to place each piece,
          but figuring with so few to go,
          the planks will show me where they belong.
          Maybe Mr. Oblinger will
          want to fix these