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Hal Ackerman
Alfalfa

Her room smells of alfalfa even though she has taken the rabbits.
The stages of her life have settled into an archaeology of smells.
The sweet dander of guinea pigs. Sour turtle bowls.
Saddles redolent of horse piss and her own gamey adolescence.
Weed. Incense. Her first boy. Her second boy.
When a friend lied about her at school and everyone believed it.
When she did not make ballet.

I would rather think of alfalfa. Of her uncle’s farm in Kentucky.
Her small hand on the wheel of the tractor.
Looking with intent across the unplowed field.
Her hair white as corn silk. Her voice all made of music.
Her spirit an unhunted bird. Gathering bits of shiny colored things it saw that it liked. …

Excerpted from I Wanna Be Sedated: 30 Writers on Parenting Teenagers
Copyright 2005 by Hal Ackerman