Lorrie Ness

Hardwood

Swallows dip,
giving              every rafter
                                    wide berth,
            clutching tufts
of fur & twine
                        as if fear
of a nest’s
unraveling
is native born.            I twist my hair
around my finger
spiraling inside
the barn’s quiet
vault.
Your hands
            squared these chestnuts
with axe & plane.
On your farm,
                                    only the trees
felled for beams
would survive
the blight.                   The shadows
faint
along the ground.
I walk them                             heel-to-toe.
                       Do they groan
under my weight?
Sag
under a swallow’s
hollow bones?

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Lorrie Ness is a writer in Northern Virginia. She has been nominated for Pushcart and Best of the Net Prizes. Her works appear in numerous journals including: Palette Poetry, Trampset, PoetryONL, The Rappahannock Review, The Inflectionist Review and Sky Island Journal. She is the author of two collections: Heritage & Other Pseudonyms and Anatomy of a Wound, which were published by Flowstone Press.