I write just about every day and most of it is garbage, but this selection is interesting to me so I though I'd post it. It was written during a workshop free-write. Our exercise was to describe an old barn through an emotional lens. I might make this into prose poem or poem someday:
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| Not a picture of a barn, I know - it's all I had. |
The old barn leaned to the side. A drunken giant had tripped once, using the barn
to catch his fall. Now there was a pucker in the snow-covered roof, cedar
shingles shattered or missing, where he had put his hand down to steady
himself. Other giants had been more purposeful, smashing in doors, stripping
off chunks of pine siding. Inside the barn was dark, a canvas or a hole,
waiting to take the blame for something else, a vessel for aggression and
redemption. Occasionally a gust of wind would blow the snow up one side of the
roof, to hang in the air, swirling, not sure which way to go. But, the giants
were long gone and this snowstorm one of many. The old growth timber framing,
beams the size of refrigerators, bolts the size of diner plates, would keep its
soul intact.
What do you think? Should I keep it as a prose poem or rework it into a poem? I think it might be a fun idea fiddle with.
