from the point of view of the fence. Enjoy, love, C.A.
FenceHuman, for years, I've been waiting.
Soon, I may warp into kindling --
no more than knots. Leaning back,
living in slant, there rests a ladder.
Today, may you reach out, touching
my strong side (the least faded,
the straightest, my shaded best).
Go ahead. Press your rising chest
against me. My mouth can take
the weight. You will make me --
one, lowly, man-made fence --
stand tall enough to come alive.
Peek above the jagged rows. Find
the crooked downside, for beyond
and below, a thousand splintered
stories, the aches of yesterdays,
are hidden within each crack and line.
So many whispers. All over, I hold
secrets. They are woven in.
They are carved into me
by little hands.
C.A. MacConnell
