Windbreak
written by: Mary Wilder
I sit alone on the back porch after midnight
To watch a storm move through.
Under the thunder, I hear soft human voices,
Whispers but no words.
In the lightning, I see all the ghosts
In aprons, overalls, work clothes.
Staring at me,
My grandfather feeding corn to a doe
From his hardened hand,
My mother cuddling a fox in her arms.
Generations who had broken their backs
And their hearts
Taking the struggles upon themselves
To leave us free and secure.
They stare at me
Figuring out if I know who they are
And if I have done enough.
The rain grazes my face,
And they disappear
While the animals shelter in the windbreak
My father planted years ago.
I have returned to live at our family farmhouse in Northwestern Indiana after years of wondering. My inspiration is the everyday, small experiences reflecting greater questions. Flying Island Journal and Northwest Indiana Literary Journal have published my poems.
