“Caretakers” first appeared in Common Ground Review.
These old barns
lean into the storm like buffalo.
Wind between their ribs
taunts the root cellar,
snow scatters
voices in the rafters.
Wooden skeletons
speak of who is not,
who once pitched hay
on the dream floor
when tears stained the fence.
Someone here milked desire
while the cow wandered off,
someone told stories to the snake.
Mildewed, they cling to planks
rotted away by whispers.
There is a time
and a time
and a time…
Touch the broken boards
and those stories blaze up like rosehips
igniting the Chesaw Road,
singe your fingers like frost.