A terrific storm came through
a ten-year storm, the farmers said
they were busy putting the cattle away
the new calves had got loose and were bleating behind the tool shed.
People don’t go out in pickup trucks
in the middle of a ten-year storm
to see the moment the lightning decides, a gathered slingshot
to pinpoint our thousand memories, to erase such dear baggage.
Willy calls Rooster and they hook up the truck
drag the propane tank away in time
the fire crews come and park
and it’s too late for the house so they all watch it burn.
Then the insurance people come
look at the pile of corrugated tin
Wilbur used to sit there every morning eating cheerios and
needlepointing verses on fabric; he’d frame them as gifts.
Grandpa’s crib still in the attic
the drywall had split and the cement had split
and the house was in pretty bad repair; just a house
but its gone now, and the land sits wet and undressed.
There are my memories tumbling about
into the pasture and the ice-skating pond
past the place where my sister got engaged
No walls left to hold them in. At least they saved the barn.
