a single worded poem.

“I grew up in a house about a hundred feet from a cornfield, and every evening we’d put the water on to boil, then pick the corn and husk it as we walked rapidly toward the house and chuck it in and dish up the chicken and say a prayer and out came the corn, on went the butter and salt, eight minutes flat from stalk to mouth, and when you ate sweet corn, life had nothing better to offer. You’d been to the top.”