The barn rafters were hand-carved
and fitted. We stood three feet apart
in snow to admire them and
shuffled our feet against cold,
considering, wary of where we put
our eyes, our shy words
And I noticed grown pigs snuffled
through their own warm feces
on new cement outside while
a tractor idled nearby,
rattling winter.
Inside the barn, piglets
climbed walls with their screams.
When you knelt they were silenced,
your hand held out, catching their fear.
I looked down at you and
you looked up at me and
six years climbed the walls,
perched on the rafters,
just vermin.
orphan poems 