Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2017  Vol. 16 No. 1
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Abandoned Shacks in North Carolina

Tucked beside the freeway, behind wings
of barbed wire and stockless fields,

they shoulder into dusk and fade.

Spigots frozen. Stone-hard hills.
Sometimes, I want to disappear

that simply—growing into dim pastures

with deer ticks and snakeskins,
wing beats above.

I want to be filled with wind

and winter’s slow thaw, a hibernating light.
Collapsing inside themselves

they’re almost beautiful, glittering

like forgotten temples out in the snow,
crossbeams broken, doors unlatched.

Like a bright hoof, the moon

stamps down through their missing slats
and at last the night surrounds.

Every star is sown; every field is blue.  

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