Strange bluebonnets grow

Down on the border

Between Texas and Mexico.

They taste like corn

In the morning when there’s nothing else to eat,

And they’re supposed be

The state flower of Texas,

And it’s against the law to pick them.

But, when one is hungry,

Is it a sin to steal a loaf of bread?

And if there are no stores for miles,

Might one pilfer a few state flowers instead?

I’ve seen a photograph from 1926,

When my grandmother rode the train

From Cisco to Ft. Worth

To have her firstborn child

In a maternity ward instead of at home,

And the train made a stop at Weatherford,

And my grandmother and her mom,

Who’d come down from Jersey, 

Took a walk to a vacant lot adjacent the depot

And stood In a field of bluebonnets. 

And the stems and the petals came way up

Past their knees, and two live oak trees 

In the background stood, whose leaves

Seemed dense and plentiful,

And my grandmother’s grin

Was so beautiful, and even her mother smiled.

And I remember blue skies, too,

And white clouds, and food that tasted good.

And am I finally getting old?

So stuck in my ways, 

Recalling all the good old days,

When there was something better to eat

Than wildflowers,

Or am I really lucky now?

Satisfied with such an all-natural,

Genetically unmolested meal?

Full as a tick or a big brown cow

With a belly full of wildflowers.

-jenn