WINTER 2014 / VOL. 14 ISSUE 1
This Month's Poem

Churning the Milk, 1949

Every Monday after school
churning had to be done
Milk that went sour on Sunday
was turned into butter on Monday,
as the creamery was closed
on the seventh day of the week.

Sometimes we kept it fresh
by putting the can into the pool
where we buried it half way up
to the handles.

It was heavy, even when empty.
When milk went sour we churned
with a heavy wooden handle,
inserted into the can, shaped like a cross.

We sealed it with a wooden lid,
fitted over the churn,
moving it up and down,
splashing the milk into a thick
butter that floated to the top.

Afterwards we drank mugfuls
of buttermilk to quench our thirst.

ó Mary Guckian 

Editorís Note:
Poet Mary Guckian lives in Ringsend, on the south side of Dublin.


The Irish American Post is pleased to review poetry submissions for potential publication. Please email your work to Martin Russell, poetry editor, Or mail poems to: 
Russell c/o The Post, 1815 W. Brown Deer Rd., Milwaukee, Wis. 53217.




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