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PrintNo Big Thing
Picture by Don O'Brien
February 10, 2012
I come back to stand in front
Of the upper barn, again and again
Even though the wood splinters
And the paint is all gone,
The sun glints off the metal roof
Bright, as it always did.
There’s still hay in the loft and swallows
That nest in the rafters.
And the door’s still here too –
The little one, up high, on the side
That Mother wouldn’t let me near.
Some days, you propped it open
And tossed fresh bales to the ground
You made everything look easy, even the end.
Twelve years dead but you
Stay fresh in my head.
I remember the jump, your jeans,
And the boots on your feet.
You leapt and landed
Firm, knees bent from the impact
You stood up and smiled: a superhero at sixteen.
“Did it hurt?”
“Nah,” you said, “wasn’t no big thing.”
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