A taste of regret lingered
in the doorway where she stood
breathing in the barn’s fecundity.
Outside, swallows darted and dove,
swimming through sporadic wind currents
between two towering grain elevators.
A blur of self-doubt
fluttered in her chest, then
she pictured her heart rusty,
dulled like the hinges on the old barn door,
their original sheen eroded
over time’s long passage.
As sure as swallows ride the wind,
her heart would die there
nailed to the old barn door.
She breathed in one long last feel for the place,
then left without saying good-bye.
Brenda Warren 2013
Shout out to the folks at the Trifecta Challenge and Poetic Bloomings for the prompts! Visit their sites to take a look at the prompts, and access links to other writer’s responses. Support writers: read!