Tennessee
Green fields close cropped,
Roll out from under loose wire
fencing.
The sky presses blue.
Awkward barns fall into themselves.
cows and pigs
Blacken, foreshadow a storm.
Daffodils dance
Reproducing in yards long abandoned,
Nodding yes, yes, yes, to it
all.
Next door
Two mules huddle in shade
Thrown by a spindly poplar,
Gazing at nothing,
Eyes full and empty;
Brown as plowed earth,
Brown as a glass
of iced tea.
By: Linda Stankard-Green