By Karen Wolf
--
A thin ribbon of confidence pushes
away a shadow cast
by the wood-slatted barn; Sweet
heart, your mama…died, didn’t
make it, passed away, joined your
brother, wished
you hadn’t closed her
out years ago, shuffles
the script again, before he steps into grungy overalls
to concentrate on winter
chores though oil and rags
on the combine a pin
prick of his mind.
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