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Evening
Chore
My grandfather has climbed into
his truck,
a rusty blue ford with a few stray
bales of hay bouncing like children
in the back. He’s riding out to the far
pasture where cows have been grazing
twenty-five years in the shade of some elms.
The dog that disappeared in a thunderstorm
and never came back is on the seat
beside him. He’s making whiny noises
and thumping his tail like an amplified
heartbeat. Before the door falls shut
behind them, the old man is cupping his hands
to call the cows away from the shadows
and into the field where the last light is
already sinking.
—Shari Wagner, Westfield, Indiana, has
an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Indiana
University, and her poems have appeared in
various literary magazines, including Southern
Poetry Review, Indiana Review, Black Warrior
Review and in the anthology, A Cappella:
Mennonite Voices in Poetry (University of
Iowa Press).From Evening
Chore (Telford, Pa.: DreamSeeker Books,
2005).
Published here by permission, all rights
reserved.
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