“Pigs in my Kitchen”

Poem of the Day, Thursday, November 14, 2024

Picture from YouTube

 “Pigs in my Kitchen”

When the sows farrowed
in early spring, usual thick with cold,
they usually nosed out
at least one runt from the litter.

We didn’t want them to die,
so we brought them indoors
out of the cold, placing them gently
in an old box on the floor in the kitchen.
Gunny sacks from the shed served
as their first blanket, their first home.
It was just the thing we did
to save runt piglets destined to die.

We learned early how to parent
by feeding the runts warm milk
through eye drops at first
and then nipples on pop bottles.
We didn’t think much about piglets
in our kitchen until I brought
my future wife home to visit.

She moseyed over to the box
of piglets, stood shocked, a look
of wonder at first sight of them
in our kitchen but didn’t say a word
until we were trundling down
Lewisville Highway to her home.

About, she gathered her courage,
breathed the words, quietly,
almost whispering, as she snuggled close:
“Why do you have pigs in your kitchen?”

It’s hard to explain to others
just why country folk do what they do.
Some say it’s just in the DNA.
To me, it’s life in the miniature.

Nothing more poignant than watching
runts, babies really, snuggling in,
calm-like beneath old burlap
and new straw, a lamp
from the dark basement,
leaning over the box,
warming them just so.