Shelly Bryant

Slipping

With the sun hovering over the horizon, preteen hands follow the moves of father’s.  Equipment stowed for the night, the pair secure the barn and head toward the house.

The youthful strides remain just short the length of the older man’s.  

“Get hold of it, Jack!” comes the woman’s voice from across the fence.

a spirit in limbo
watches its body in the ward –
life’s scenes recalled

The two abruptly halt. Side by side they stand mute.  Mother’s headless fowl crosses their path. A death run across the barnyard.