How to Leave a Farmhouse
       

Beyond the mossy stoop, flanked
by pines like stalwart weeds,

the farmland is newly hemmed
by the interstate. On it you

ascend like teeth when a mouth
opens to sing. The wind-in-your-

hair feeling is like forgetting
yourself run ragged: a kerchief

only flaps that side of the wind-
break: massive bur, understory

trees; triplets of ironwood cut out
for leverage. You'd worked in

private. Now they're everyone's
blue printed curtains, chard plantlets.

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Copyright © 2022 Beth McDermott All rights reserved
from Figure 1
Pine Row Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission