Sentinel

I will trade you

Your remembering

For water towers

Sporting box letters

Grain elevators are

Silent sentinels

Their sloughing skins

Of paint flutter

To the earth

Salting it with

Ghosts of

Farming past

Red-necked men

Haul cattle

Drink beer, play cards

Across the table

My hand held close

Triumphant trumps

Laid down to win

I put on

These old

Boots of being

Mirroring their

Mannerisms, speech

It will take weeks

To work this twang

Out of my cadence

Few choices

Endless hard decisions

Bleak skeletons in

Closets crammed

Full of quilt scraps

And photographs

Pride is

Its own portrait

She became

What she needed

To survive

Now, in twilight hours

She softens

Gentler, kinder

There’s time now

For peaceful days

We laugh

More than we cry

Holding each other

So close

After unexpected loss

Past the point

Of weddings; funerals

Become our

Family reunions

Romanticism forgets

Just how many

Goddamned ticks

Embed themselves in

Frosty’s fur

New dog, same

Old soul

Reincarnated

16 times over

As I say goodbye

Our last patriarch

Weeps profoundly

Grips me tight in

Weakening arms

When strong men

Become old

The good ones

Lean into vulnerability

Because they know

When the

Harvest is over

It’s time to

Lie down

To rest