“Sent out to the barn” by Chris Bridgen
Poetry Pause is the League of Canadian Poets’ daily poetry dispatch. Read “Sent out to the barn” by Chris Bridgen.
Sent out to the barn
By Chris Bridgen
Set out toward the ghost of a barn. The older one, further back
from the gravel road near a limestone quarry that once sacrificed layers
of fresh rock for colonials settling bone deep in feral homelands.
Mules and kin relocated into fresh-mown hay stalls protected from
outside miscarriages and betrayal peeking out behind odd coincidences
as blood red harvest moons smiled. First remnants left after clearing the
godforsaken land stolen from once immutable natural order this barn.
Needing sheep for the yarn, metal bells for the cows. Worked hard
this old new land, fell wood for the tall timber walls from forest
unsutured of England’s settled lawns deep earth fresh, wild, and strong.
Kneaded virgin pine to build from shocked torn land a human cavern.
Remaining teeth of a barn, once soft mouthed kittens rumoured newly born,
delivered by a feral cat who hissed at snakes and tiny humans. The weakest
of the litter pushed out from the warm bundle mewling softly against fate
came stalking creatures with yellow eyes hungry as flashlights from dark
corners weighted with easy prey, a smear of fur caught by impossible distance.
Remembered the farm, where old hay decays to spike standing water.
Time punctures holes in the thinning ahistorical walls. The boards that
perished did so with quiet fall. Littered cat bed floors sawed off by wind,
dancing with mice eyes and owl yawns. in rusty dots old nails rest
weary, unable to hold any semblance of past upright any longer.
Exposed as a nose cross a blustery field whipped by stray stalks of corn.
At the haunted crossroads of invasion and barn, to gather nettle
and plaster wet mud shoved in widening cracks of numerous harms.
The longer nails secured too long, stout against all pulling.
Copyright ยฉ Chris Bridgen
Chris Bridgen (he/him) lives and works in Ottawa, ON, Canada. He shares life with a spouse, a daughter, two objectively funny orange cats, uncounted bottles of scotch, and zero ghosts. Find his work at bywords.ca, Delicate Emissions and this here fine establishment. Also somewhat socially @chrispb.bsky.social
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