His Barn – a poem
by: Dustin Joy
The barn door creaks on ancient hinges,
like her knees, with aches and twinges.
She opens it with apprehension,
melancholy, belief suspension.
She came here just to get the spade,
to dig potatoes, while there’s shade.
To him it never was a chore,
scorning melons from the store.
He sowed these seeds with loving care,
pulled the weeds, ran off the mare.
Sweet corn might be nice for lunch,
bright green onions by the bunch.
A fresh tomato, one zucchini,
suitable for tonight’s linguini.
She turns to go, this barn is haunted.
She steels herself, she wont be daunted.
She takes the shovel, hard to heft it,
cleaned and oiled from where he left it.
These things were his, his pride and joy,
her husband’s bench, his tools, his toys.
His works of art, both wood and ferric,
colorful and esoteric.
Whirligigs, doo-dads, inventions,
moving sculptures, good intentions.
She picks one up, a clever what’s-it.
She smiles, she laughs, she cries, she hugs it.
Compassion, kindness, a touch of crazy,
serenity some took for lazy.
Whimsical, her dad thought feckless,
she loved him more when he was reckless.
His things still lie here, strewn about.
Others said to throw them out.
Sad memories, to best be rid.
They never knew him like she did.
Without his spark, his touch of dreamy,
she steps outside, the sky is creamy.
The setting sun, he loved the gloaming.
Across their lives her thoughts are roaming.
A widow’s world, can she adapt,
a sewing circle, perhaps a cat?
She locks his barn up, safe and true.
She smiles for him, he loved that, too.