The bow-backed barn shuttered tight
Slumps into the barren field
Drawn down by gravitational pull
Of generations escaping, the past
Abandoned like winter cut wheat remnants
Moldering in the hayless loft.
The loft, backlit by slanted light
Prying through planks once planed,
Now warps with disregarding drafts,
Silence only marred by creaks,
Voiceless where children’s voices had sung,
Airless where lovers had breathlessly breathed,
Emptied of anticipation,
Empty but for wavering motes.
Steve Gerson, an emeritus English professor, writes poetry about life’s dissonance and dynamism. He’s proud to have published in Panoply (winning an Editors’ Choice award) and in Hungry Chimera.