Weekly Contest
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member poem of the day
I left the cemetery that April day And drove to the old farmhouse Where I’d grown up. Dead leaves shattered As I walked around the house I hadn’t seen in twenty years The tree branch that had held the rope swing, The grassy space by the woods where I’d played… Still there. The trees, just beginning to show new leaves Let more light reach the ground than under summer’s Dense canopy of green Broken beer bottles, left by hunters, I guessed, lent sparks of light To the dried leaves that had piled up for years Shards of broken glass hung from the frame Of my old bedroom window Paint had worn off the house, leaving gray weatherboard Speckled with holes from buckshot From deer hunters no longer worried about anyone living there The house sagged where rain had blown in for years. And I knew the house would never be rebuilt. I turned to go back to the car. And that’s when I saw it. When we’d moved to the farm and cleared the yard I came across the trunk of...
Weekly Contest
No contests this week.
