By Jo MacDougall
Awake while you sleep,
I tie and untie the strings of what went wrong:
the farm auctioned, my father buried in Minnesota,
you and I alone
in a rented room.
I remember my father when I was six
pushing open a gate on the farm road,
stirring the dust of August.
The locusts sizzling in the grass,
a hum of dragonflies hanging sleepy above us.
Barn: Maine USA. June 2007.
5/16/2008
Homeplace
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3 comments:
I love the description of August, her father opening the gate, the buzz of insects.If we are lucky that is how we may remember the summer and a protected, beautiful time of innnocence. I know I do. Maybe things have unraveled or we have just gotten older, we have all suffered loss.
Another beautiful photo Chuck.
Big Chuck, Where you at?
"Soon the moss will clothes the stone"
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