My grandmother said when she was young
The grass was so wild and high
You couldn’t see a man on horseback.
In the fields she made out
Three barns,
Dark and blown down from the weather
Like her husbands.
She remembers them in the dark,
Cursing the beasts,
And how they would leave the bed
In the morning,
The dead grass of their eyes
Stacked against her.
Frank Stanford
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