I am thirteen driving the grain
cart watching the combine's sickle
persuade the heads of wheat
(like a man's hand on a woman's back
entering a room) to the blade's touch.

I place the back tractor tire parallel
with the header and wait for seeds to fall
from the combine's auger, (like water
from a faucet), into the empty cart
behind me. I measure by sight the distance

of fear keeping me from inching too close
and causing an accident. The first lesson
my father taught me: never let grain
touch the ground.