The slant of sun
on the back of the barn,
the history of a family
three generations and counting
with echoes of four and five.
Other buildings torn down,
replaced for greater efficiency,
the red barn remains
repainted every few years,
no longer for milking cows
or for horse stables
or a lambing shed for sheep
or a pen for bucket calves.
But still it holds firm,
its haymow loft,
bales of history,
the rope swing,
the swallow nests,
memories of hot nights
unloading wagons of baled hay
or from a prior generation
the trapeze lift of loose hay
from horse-drawn wagons.
The Barn that Grandpa built
circa 1920 still standing
with the shadow of the silo
cast against its back side,
center of my childhood,
now a hollow shrine
of memory-making story
for my grandchildren, too.
Dwight Bitikofer is a poet living in St. Louis. He has published three poetry chapbooks. He is retired from a four decade career of publishing community newspapers. Dwight is a native of rural Kansas. He is “Grandpa B“ to four young souls.