Updated: Jan 16, 2021
Original Poetry written by Tamara Chicoine
The seasons worked together
to bring down the old barn,
not in a sudden way
rather a slow methodical way.
Winter's weighted white snow
accumulated on roof timbers with premeditation,
while horses and cows sheltered in wooden stalls
snorted mist from frosted nostrils.
Summer sun's charring hands stretched across
apple red barn boards on blue sky afternoons.
Thunderstorm rain slipped between trusses, and drip,
dripped, as children played hide-and-seek among straw bales
stacked like yellow Legos in the barn.
The man worked to keep the barn in good repair
taming each unruly board with a sharp disciplined nail.
His wife lay a think blanket of red paint,
to put to sleep the curling, ageing paint
under her firm, motherly hand.
In time, the seasons weathered the man and woman too.
Skin dappled with sunspots,
wrinkles etched into brows and cheeks
as if painted from an artist's skilled hand.
Tired backs, stooped shoulders, arthritic hands
that held steel hammers and a garden's harvest bounty.
The seasons continued to give and take,
one year at a time.
Then the barn was alone.
The man, his wife gone, the children grown.
Their Calico kittens curled up in the hay only a memory now.
The seasons kept at it, board by board,
from red to deepened grey, the barn grew weary
until one winter storm it collapsed
with a final breath, surrendering.
But the seasons were kind, respectful,
leaving small trinkets and belongings
so that the barn, the man, his wife and children
would not be forgotten.
A tin cup, a leather glove, a tarnished hair pin,
a rusted toy car, a black eye from a stuffed bunny,
a leather horse halter, slivers of a glass milk bottle,
nails, timbers, laying obediently among swaying tall grasses, resting in the sun
then blanketed tenderly by winter snow.
The seasons claimed them,
whispering their stories among willows
in hushed breezes.
An original Poem written by Tamara Chicoine `