the smell of death
hangs in my nose
They say,
This is how farm life goes.
Hard work from dawn to dusk.
I am
now a husk
empty
those things which once filled me
that made me who i thought i was
dancing, art, photography, design, writing
they are cast off
in a box on a shelf
waiting for someday
and i am instead
doing things
i can not talk about
in polite society
elbow deep in birth
and death
a farm
a full-time takes-my-breath no-time-to-stop
hobby farm
no one around
except to say
We knew.
You should have done.
too late
as stacks
of to dos and to reads
tumble into heaps
and bounty turns to compost
and clothes chewed by critters
and flies multiply
unlike our bunnies
and goats.
