![penned1-2.jpg penned1-2.jpg](http://www.kentuckymonthly.com/downloads/9029/download/penned1-2.jpg?cb=d40aa2685380f3ddfee55696d6dfdb8a&w={width}&h={height})
I remember lying between
rows of potatoes and tomatoes
listening to the sound
of my grandfather
dragging his hoe
with expertise
through the dark earth
a little way away
I knew the tomatoes
would be canned
placed on thin shelves
in a dark room
where the pump
pulled sulfur riddled
well water
into our home
the cold would come
hard earth, bare trees
I could go back
to those cans
taste the summer sun
grown up
from a giving earth
that I have, now
to some, forsaken
there’s nothing
that anyone can do
in a room with formulas
to replicate
that taste
Patrick Johnson, Morehead