It’s funny the memories I thought carefully tucked away
came to life for a few brief moments on a quiet
Rainy day
A faint glimmer of red and gold
My brain tries hard to unfold
Ears of corn, some yellow, some red
Indian corn, my grandad simply said
I remember I thought he was being funny
As he looked My way, with a smile as
sweet as honey
Well, how did you grow these to make them red
I remember asking grandad, why aren’t they golden instead
Each individual seed came from a unique flower
On each cob, separate varieties of corn have power
All the flowers are the same color, usually yellows
but sometimes white, and less often, little red fellows
One type alone can have four colors of flowers on one cob –
and five colors of seeds on one ear, including purple its not a small job
There is this thing called botany
When you grow up, you can learn it like me
A memory of a sunny day in Grandads
Garden shed
A botanical memory still lingers inside this small girl’s head