Low in the sky, the shadowy moon
shawls your dirt road, your red barn
the shit-shuffled corral.
Black and abstract, pinion pines,
lone sentinels keep watch.
Some nights roosting barn owls
mutter under their breaths—
and you, pressed flat
by the thumbprint of your father,
whipped by the harsh words
of your mother—
secure your lasso to the rafter,
throw your Stetson to the
straw-strewn floor
and kick off your boots.
Dale Champlin, an Oregon poet, has poems in The Opiate, Timberline Review, Pif, Willawaw, and elsewhere. Her first collection, The Barbie Diaries, was published in 2019, Callie Comes of Age, 2021, and Isadora, 2022. Dale loves nothing more that the scent of juniper and sage. Visit her at dalechamplin.com