The man in the farmhouse

holds me with his words
when he comes to check
we’re still standing after the storm.
The fruit trees remain unbowed,
but he notices our stolen crops, laughs boldly
that deer are more destructive than any weather.
This neighbour understands their dark beauty.

Later, we dine with his family,
warm within thick walls.
So much heat is kept inside.
He plays cards with my husband
while I talk to his wife,
stack flowered china in the rack.

The man in the farmhouse
holds me with his eyes
when we say goodbye on the dark front step.
An owl hoots in a distance I shrug off.
Bats loop my house and his.

Claire Walker’s poetry has been published in magazines, anthologies and websites including The Interpreter’s House, Ink Sweat and Tears, Prole, and And Other Poems. Her first pamphlet, The Girl Who Grew Into a Crocodile, is published by V. Press. Her website is https://clairewalkerpoetry.com