Old Blackwood Farm

Leaves catch on field stalks
And broken fence, some grackles
Crying where the road ends.

Leaves, cobwebs, feathers,
Caught in the gutters, light wind
Blows fog through the dusk.

Advertisement

The fence barbs rusted;
Trees’ skeletal silhouettes
Inch toward the wellhead.

Soil leached from sun—
Vultures surround the dead cow
Laid out on bank mud

Wind-swept sticks rustling
With leaves on the walk; clear streaks
Of the last of dusk.

Comments are automatically closed two weeks after an article's initial publication. See our comments policy for more.

Advertisement

The latest from america

Why are there so many Catholics on the nation’s highest court?
Allyson EscobarJuly 18, 2018
Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash
Said with purpose and conviction, the Memorare can remind 20-somethings that we are not alone in our restlessness.
Allyson EscobarJuly 18, 2018
Jesus would have definitely taken his paid days of vacation—all of them.
Jack Bentz, S.J.July 18, 2018
Hasn’t the good Lord given someone to watch over you?
Terrance KleinJuly 18, 2018