Dusk dims the light and veils this farm’s
Forgotten face and homespun charms.
Behind rusted gates
A crow cultivates
Earth that waits
For tanned arms
To harness moody mules to plow.
No wrinkled face with sweaty brow
Lifts toward welcome rain.
Equine weather vane
Jumps a bough,
And pivots toward the Pleiades
Before an unseen hand can seize
The reins or halter.
Tarnished hooves falter:
With the breeze.
Then moonlight cools July’s hard heat
And silvers errant stalks of wheat.
With darkness erased
My memories taste
Of dreams chased—
~The Old Homestead, Jeffersonville, Georgia
First published in Lyric, vol. 97, no. 3 (Summer 2017): 105. Print.
Like many aged wooden farmhouses in the vicinity of Middle Georgia, the Old Homestead was abandoned and left to deteriorate. The family moved into a brick house on the property.