Dispersal

In March I watched the lambs closely,
their bleats and nudges around the practiced ewes.
Then overnight they were trucked away,
leaving the field silent
                               beside this farmhouse
emptied of a woman I never met. For years
her collie ran down the road to meet me,
the kitchen lit each dawn.
                                      Today I count the spikes
that held her many bird feeders, invitation
poked into the pines, and in the potting shed
torn feed sacks spill for animals
to scavenge.
                   On a gray afternoon
I roam the grounds.
Far away, the sun must be sinking down in gold
as something I barely knew comes upon the grass
and each dark window.

Copyright © 2004 Katherine Soniat All rights reserved
from Green Mountains Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission