when i was a boy ~ ron starbuck

ST. JOHN'S LUTHERAN CHURCH ~ EASTON, KANSAS

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when i was a boy
it was easy for me to imagine
living the cowboy life, like John Wayne
somewhere in Kansas

which is where i was born and mostly raised
or even further out west among the mesas and cactus
southwest of home by only a few hundred miles
my imagination ran rowdy in those days

we lived in the far suburbs of Kansas City
but on the close edge of a cultivated countryside
where small farms and ranches
were stretched and scattered between subdivisions

creeks and stream beds were our favorite play fellows
they were the wild companions and places of our childhood
and of my heart i believe still
there was a small field i once walked by on occasion

where two horses grazed, and where
i would often stop to say hello, they weren’t shy at all
about galloping up to the fence, anxious for me
to pet their broad foreheads and dive deeply into the

the black pools of their pupils
where sunlight and stars floated forever
speaking out loud with a neigh and a nod
whispering horse sense to my ear

my maternal grandfather and grandmother were farm folk
all their life, wedded to the land and the changing seasons
the rhythm of their lives guided
by the movement of earth and moon

and Sunday morning church at St. John’s Lutheran
where relatives and neighbors gathered weekly, some still do
i can still see my grandmother’s face and her secret smile
like Mona Lisa’s, knowing more than any child may imagine

and her soft loving eyes, wise with wonder for the world
her hands bent with arthritis, but never a complaint
as she snapped snap beans for dinner
or kneaded dough for bread

i can still taste the delight of those farm days
especially the strawberries and shortcake in summer
vine ripe juicy tomatoes exploding with flavor
into the back of your mouth and throat

and i can still see my grandfather too, so clearly even now
his hands especially, so strong and so sure
calloused from years of work on the farm, but so very gentle
i can remember as a small child, crawling up on his lap

as he sat in his rocking chair by a pot bellied stove, truly
and how he held each of us in turn,
all his grandchildren, joyfully patient
eyes twinkling like some dime store Santa

even though he was bald and beardless
wearing blue jean overalls with
brass buttons and snaps we’d play with
there was no safer place in the entire world you know



Wheels Turning Inward by Ron Starbuck

Hardcover: 136 pages

Publisher: FriesenPress (August 26, 2010)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1770671129

ISBN-13: 978-1770671126