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A Shovel Floats from the Red Barn
Annalynn Hammond
At some point, we all have to deal with a horse head coagulating in the barn. The
flies, unforgiving, sizzle their wings and say, it's too late, too late, you
killer of wind. There we always fold and pound our heads against that tongued
stump. Oh how we roll, then with sawdust drool, blubber, I tried, I tried,
but the wind is so fragile, I tell you, it never survives. *
* * The blood dries into shiny flakes, and the eye grows
familiar in its fixed stare. Old friend, I say, how long have we been
lying here with our faces in the dirt? * * * The
loaded shovel is not as heavy as I thought it would be. All I feel is the thump
of my feet through the clodded pasture. * * * At
last, the sky has shut its eye, and the sweet windless earth is quiet.
© Annalynn Hammond
Annalynn
Hammond's first book, Dirty Birth, was the winner of the Sundress Publications'
First Annual Book Contest, and will be available in Spring 2004. Her poetry has
appeared or is forthcoming in: Gargoyle Magazine, Can we have our ball
back?, The Pedestal Magazine, Snow Monkey and others.
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