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the new path


by strannikov


once Lucille died he sold all the cows

sold all the roosters and laying hens

left the vacant pens and barns to stand

left the chicken coop to rot,

which it did: hay left in the barns rotted, too.

 

once he had planted Lucille things changed.

his emptiness rivalled the hollow grave

dug for her: hand crossed to steady one arm

his eyes lowering with her coffin

he stretched over to watch it descend,

a sister and a brother thought to catch him

but he stood arched watching the descent

hoping at least one tear would land―two.

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