—after Jean-Francois Millet’s painting, The Angelus

  

My maternal grandparents emigrated from Sweden—

a down-to-earth, persevering couple,

they made their home in Minnesota.

 

As a kid, I’d watch Grandpa Emil “Namie”

harvest potatoes. His hilled rows faced the lake.

I made dirt piles while he worked the soil.

Weekends at Crosslake were carefree, comforting—

we fished, swam, searched for shells, took walks,

played Slapjack, Crazy Eights, and Kings in the Corner.

These grounding activities became sacred,

a form of devotion.

 

Like Millet’s painting,

I’m reminded of Grandpa and Grandma, the Smiths.

I imagine Emil and Edith outdoors,

bowing their heads, cart and pitchfork nearby.

I wonder, did they hear church bells,

pause for prayer, honor the Incarnation,

repeat biblical verses, recite the Angelus?

Hail Mary, full of grace; the LORD is with thee . . .

 

One bright weekend, I recall catching a sunfish.

Oh, how it wriggled until it stopped.

Heartbroken, I held the fish all day.

At bedtime, I placed it in a pie tin near my pillow,

prayed for its recovery,

recited my own childlike version of the Angelus—

Please God,

let this fish live again,

swim in the everlasting shimmer

of Crosslake in summer, forever.

Amen.

 

Jeannie E. Roberts is a Midwesterner with roots in Wisconsin and Minnesota. She is the author of nine books, including her most recent full-length poetry collection On a Clear Night, I Can Hear My Body Sing (Kelsay Books, 2025). She serves as a poetry editor for the online literary magazine Halfway Down the Stairs, is an Eric Hoffer and a multiple Best of the Net award nominee, and finds joy drawing, taking walks, photographing nature, and spending time with loved ones.