The Barn
No one just Mary
whose dreams are unspecial as pigeons
and who never went to school
keeping the secret in her own mud heart
safe there in her handmade heart
after the huge neutral wingedness
scatters the hay and flurries up
all the hay-colored moths after
each of her fingers blossoms from trembling
though she wishes it wouldn’t
though she wishes she could go back
to her sad easy chores
to the ache in her shoulders
she cannot get rid of
and that she could ignore
the summoning in response to her
summoning
Plume: Issue #54 January 2016