At Samuel P. Taylor State Park


5″ x 7″ cherry wood print on Somerset paper
with Graphic Chemical Vine Black Ink

My husband, if he comes, will bring raw milk.

The stuff they sell in stores I wouldn’t feed

our pigs. We’re renting; sort of like a work

exchange. We only have a hundred head

and they belong to Mr. Peterson.

But all the calves are ours. He only wants

the milk and us to keep the place until

it’s sold. I hope it doesn’t bother you

to look at me; but while I’m camping, well

it hurts to wear my wig. My husband bought

it. See, my hair just doesn’t seem to grow

as quickly over steel as over bone.

The doctor said I was suppose to stay

in bed; but bed is boring, lonely too;

so I convinced my husband I could rest

while camping just as well as I could rest

at home. We spent our honeymoon right here.

I hadn’t camped before but with the cost

of everything and being out of work,

my husband thought that this would be the best

that we could do. And as it happened, he

was right. We camped beside the stream. I loved

the time we were together, here. You sure

it doesn’t bother you to look at me?

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