I ran barefoot in unexpected spring rains
I ate sugar sandwiches for lunch
I jumped the waves at Myrtle Beach
I felt cool mud squeeze between my toes
I climbed trees and hung upside down
I picked wild blackberries and ate them
I played in the dirt with tiny solders
I made mud pies and once took a taste
I played house with baby dolls and tiny tea sets
I was once chased by a big wild turkey
I rode a small cow and ran from a big bull
I carried buckets of cold water from a spring
I fed squawking chickens and squealing pigs
I read the funny papers and Dear Abby
I sunbathed doused in baby oil and little else
I birthed babies and rocked them to sleep
I ate warm, juicy tomatoes in the garden
I read trashy novels and classics and box labels
I wore undershirts until I switched to a bra
I wrote stories about life and sadness and joy
I gabbed and gossiped with good friends
I danced when asked and tapped my feet when not
I traveled dusty dirt roads and curvy blacktops
I gathered eggs from under cackling hens
I drove a brand new yellow car and was proud
I smiled at all the boys who looked my way
I washed my hair in lemon juice
I ate hotdogs all the way and hot fudge sundaes
I worked hard and stood up tall
I encouraged the girls and the grandchildren
I cooked a lot of family meals and Christmas dinners
I washed a lot of dishes and scrubbed some toilets
I loved and was loved