(CC0 Public Domain)

 

She told me to turn off

The main highway

It was late and we were both

Tired driving home

But she wanted to stop

At the side of a country road

And stand in the cold

Away from the lights of cars

And look at the full blood

Moon from the deep snow

Of the farmer’s field and his

Rotting barn which should

Have been torn down yesterday:

Its red wash peeled bare

And bleached dry —

All slats and holes now and empty

Save for our own warm regard

And habit of seeing it when we passed

And the full moon leaning heavy against it

About to topple into slivers of sparkling stars.

Stephen Rybicki is a poet and academic librarian on the faculty of Macomb Community College, and the author of the reference work, Abbreviations: A Reverse Guide to Standard and Generally Accepted Abbreviated Forms. He lives in Romeo, Michigan.

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Published in the June 1, 2018 issue: View Contents

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