Blood in my mouth. Did I fall?
I’m lying in the still-long blades of dry, yellow grass. The motor is running. I can only see the tops of red baseball caps. I hear muffled bellowing.
Someone’s holding my hand. Sun is white. Sweat forms just above my brow. Rolls down. Meets my tears. Down my temple/upper cheekbone. Pooled in the cradle of my outer ear. Can’t move. Can’t see anything but sky. Can’t hear very well. Because of the grass? Or something worse?
The silhouette of my father’s face, grimaced and gray, leans. Zooms. I’m veiled by his plaid work shirt now. His overall strap buckle lightly pressing against the bridge of my nose. His huge gloved hands lift me quickly from the ground. I’m laid on the pickup bed’s tailgate. Next to the leaning batches of barn-bound, recently-bailed hay.
I like the attention. But I’m scared. Only because every pair of eyes I meet are scuffling with fear.
Hooks and hay
Legs, arms, hair, feet
Pulleys and rope
Dangle like hope
From these loft floor cracks and old barn rafters
High on sunshine, shade and sugar
Soft difference between water and air
Swaying, yellow grass grazing the crisscrosses on my overalled back
I won’t touch this ground again with my pink toes
Only with my mind
I swing my legs from the swaying dock
Forgotten every one of my dwindling flock
I lay in fields of golden, wet, honey wheat
Drink down dew from low, golden clouds I meet
I run in those hidden dark, green trees
Places I learned to be what I please
Ravines littered with softly-fallen sins
Redeemed by desire, baptized by might-have-beens
Hay dangles through cracks and creaky joists
I break pains and panes with the ghosts of your voice
Pains of the past
Panes of glass
I fly kites with the ribs of those rotting, white windows
Catch hope with faith and sinewy minnows
Display truth and let it cool on open-sashed sills
Smoke the winnows and billows of dogged wills
Clear to the rafters of this old barn
And to the ragged fence posts on Used-to-be Farm
I love you.