I watched the barn burn down last night
Smoke and ash like blackbirds billowing over the old oak trees
Light dancing like a sunset with a vengeance
I went inside and dragged out my rocking chair
from its place by the window
out into the field full of chicory and bishops lace
I settled down near the old fox den
The arms of the chair were smooth as oiled silk
grooves worn down by the hands of my grandmother
I watched the fire
as the hayloft began to catch
as sparks flew up like fireflies against the rising crescent moon
as the hay began to crackle chorusing with the peepers
I wondered why
everything was still okay
This was the only night left and the roof leaked anyway
I sat in the dusk on a late May evening admiring how the flames
complimented my work dress
I noted this to the cows in the field who stared at the flames uncertain if they should be afraid
I stared at the flames
uncertain if I should be afraid
Is this what crazy looks like?
Could do with a cup of lemonade
as the heat of the fire burned away the cool night air
I rocked as my mother had when she sang me to sleep
I rocked as my grandmother had when she knit my wool socks
Good thing it rained the night before I suppose
good thing the evening was still without a single gust of wind
I sat in my rocking chair as the barn slowly tumbled to ash
I began to sing aloud to the fox den and oak trees to the cows and the farm house
that was too big and too lonely to be inside anyway
I sang Blackbird as my mother had when I was a child
All your life you were only waiting for this moment to arrive
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