The Barn
The icy entrails of a barn remain.
I slowly pace as if this were a careful story
about a summer day, about a man,
high-colored and excitable, who sang words
and loved simple tasks.
Praise silence;
praise smells embalmed in soiled hay;
praise winter light;
praise wood, rotting and unashamed.
Praise the art of one remaining saddle.
The bite of time consumes. In an aisle
of empty stalls I picture a smiling face,
so gentle. I hear the syncopated rhythms
of restless hooves, an absent snort,
and I want, at least, the horses back.
Vicki Stock is a poet living in Indianapolis. Her publication credits include The Flying Island, The Best of the Kenyon Review Workshops and the chapbook The Empty Nest by the Pierson Press at Yale University (2003). She also attended the Iowa Summer Poetry Workshop.