An Abandoned Farmhouse Remembers, by Emily Bliss

Perfume of hay, lofted and forgotten in my forehead ,

encircles my wooden skeleton.

The memory of retreating footsteps,

clicking of a lock in once-open arms

taking away a lifetime of holding life,

joy of stomping hooves and pecking beaks

silenced by lonely howls of prairie wind.

Old cedar bones creak,

dust blows in with the draft and settles

among my joints.

Clomp of work boots replaced

by echo of cawing crows

darting back and forth with wings

and not the bare feet of children.

Once-wide eyes are shuttered

to once-teeming hills of green,

and I fear they now roll

into the horizon,

a brown hump forsaken by time.

Sun rises and sets still, with warmth

that cascades across weary shoulders.

Broad legs still bear

the empty weight.

-Emily Bliss