ISSUE: Fall 2008
In the morning we found
40 acres of oaks
torn to the ground.
The storm
had spattered barn,
house, shed, whole
farm in red mud
and a leafy shred.
My parents walked,
alone and paired,
through the weird
carnage, mourning
—downed trees still
green and breathing
as soon they would
no more—fallen
as in a war.
