Mamaw used to tell a story
about how she and her sister 
would buy sack after sack
of perfectly pearly new potatoes
from them Amish women in Ohio.  
For next to nothing! 
Those women shook their heads,
bonnets bouncing at a couple silly girls
with babies on their hips and pedal pushers
and wondered why on earth they’d bother
dragging a wagon all the way
from Little Kentucky 
just to fill it with itty bitty leavings
when there were fat, full grown bushels
spilling over at their feet. 
Mamaw would smile 
like she’d got one over on them
and hustle to the house with tender
tater bounty in tow to a bucket of lard
and a cast iron skillet
squatting in the kitchen
waiting to help fry up a taste of home.