Voices from the Heartland segment presents author Judith Hougen reading her poem "Coming of Age."

Transcript:

We skidded up in late afternoon to the lake cottage,

hot, steel bucket in the back seat bulging

with wild strawberries, the cologne of July

blown in our hair. Engine off, the day

squeezed close again like the sweaty arms of my old aunt.

The women buzzed the bucket to the kitchen in a rush

of blue aprons. My nails, hemmed with russet horseshoes,

dug out hulls, while my mother’s voice

rose clear as the scent of fresh tablecloths

snapped open in the dining room. After dinner,

the berries waded in heavy cream, we relaxed

in a humid breeze barely breathing off Lake Minnetonka,

the sky sinking into a last cup of lukewarm coffee.

At twelve, time reinventing my body, I was old enough

to sit amid the tribe in poppy-printed dresses

and red-faced toenails. From our patch of porch light,

I heard waves slapping the shore, realized

even darkness is comforted by the talk of women,

the sweetness raised in the pink lines of their hands.