Front Porch Review
I watch our barn go grey,
camouflaging itself with the sky.
Storms now pass it over, mistaking it for kin.
It’s my reminder that ingenuity comes with aging.
Over time, its hardware crumbled.
Loose sheet metal warbles from the roof when the breeze
lips it just right. I let it flap. Screwing it down
would silence its music.
A crosscut saw hangs above the door
rusting toward the ground. Each raindrop is a new wound.
I sacrifice it in the elements — allow its mural
to reach its conclusion.
Dutch elm took the tree by the silo.
I know it attracts termites, that its branches will snap —
but I let it stand. Every summer, woodpeckers
fledge from its core.
Lorrie Ness enjoys writing, photography and any activity that involves getting dirt under her nails. When she’s not hiking or messing around in the garden, she’s working as a psychologist, spending time with her family and relaxing with her menagerie of pets. She was raised in a rural corner of Indiana and now lives in Virginia, close to the Shenandoah Mountains.