10
saddlebag dispatches
SHADOWS
t s u D
and
poetry by
Marleen Bussma The country road is fading, but the mem’ries hover clear. They circle ’round then settle at the farmyard waiting near. The barn now stands exhausted with a sagging roof that’s weak. A busted door hangs open wide as if inclined to speak. The endless years without a paintbrush add to its decline.
Worn, weathered wood’s been pummeled to a polished, pewter shine. The horse stalls stand abandoned. Faint smells linger in the air with ties to thoughts of names that were good friends and times we’d share. The wind has never left. It stayed behind where it grew old. It peels the land and shapes it with a heartless hand that’s cold.
